


call me an amenity

by knox (booyouwhoran)



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, This Is A Gratuitous Rom Com, also a group fic masquerading as violet/trixie, kind of, skater au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 10:12:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11872173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booyouwhoran/pseuds/knox
Summary: Trixie doesn't really hate anyone. She makes an exception for Violet.OrTrixie's home for the summer. Violet upends her plans somewhat.





	call me an amenity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poppynightin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppynightin/gifts).



> Here She Is: the gratuitous lesbian vixie fic that no one asked for. 
> 
> This fic is kind of my baby and features: Trixie and Violet being idiots, skateboards, trans Katya, Pearl's impeccable taste in friends and more group dynamics than you can swing a hat at 
> 
> It was also an exercise in me seeing how many straight people cliches I could put in until I hated myself
> 
> title is from Bad Liar by Selena Gomez because I am That Girl. I listened to Frankie Cosmos's Next Thing album a lot while writing this, and I would recommend. 
> 
> As always, big love to my sun n stars polly, and you can come yell at me on tumblr @kittydoux. questions/comments always appreciated! 
> 
> warnings for: mentions of drowning

 

Trixie has a good feeling about this summer. It’s early June and already she can feel the heat rippling on the shimmering pavement. She’s been home for two days, her first year of college passing in a whirl of new experiences and friends and work and performances and Katya, obviously, considering they live together. But there’s something so charmingly comforting about coming home for the summer. Trixie missed this, she realises, taking a sniff of the salty sea air out of her bedroom window. Katya is over, on the pretence of helping her unpack but actually lying on Trixie’s bed, painting her toenails each a different colour. 

“When does Alaska get back?” Trixie asks.

Katya groans dramatically. “Not for another week. It’s killing me, цветок. I miss her face. And her pussy.”

Trixie wrinkles her nose. “I thought we had a ban on you talking about Alaska’s pussy except under extreme circumstances and emergencies.’

Katya bats her eyelashes up at Trixie. “This _is_ an emergency. I haven’t seen her for a month! What if she’s too cool for me now? What if New York changed her? What if she’s a dirty hipster?”

Trixie sits down on the bed next to her. She knows Katya’s being dramatic to make her laugh, but she also knows Katya well enough to recognise the real fear there. She presses a kiss to Katya’s forehead.

“C’mon, she’s crazy about you. You say that every holiday and it hasn’t happened yet. Plus, if anyone’s the dirty hipster here, it’s you. You basically restarted the jelly shoe trend at college.”

Katya slaps her thigh and Trixie giggles. “Kim’s coming home then too. Are they bringing Bob?”

Katya nods in confirmation. Kim and Alaska are in New York together, Kim studying costume design and Alaska at acting school. Alaska met Bob at their first improv class, and in Alaska fashion had invited her to live with her and Kim by the end of the class. The rest was history – Kim’s family invited Bob to stay over Christmas and she’d immediately hit it off with the rest of the girls. And now she was staying for summer. Trixie grins at the news. Bob is one of the funniest people she’s ever met, and they get on like a house on fire. She does roller derby, and Trixie herself is quite fond of her roller skates. Unlike Naomi, Pearl and Katya, Trixie doesn’t skateboard. In fact, the one time she’d tried, she broken her ankle and had to walk around in a bright pink cast with ‘PEARL AND NAOMI ROCK’ and various Russian swearwords decorating it. When Kim had moved over from Korea when she was fifteen, part of their friendship had been consolidated by their mutual lack of skate ability. The train of thought brings her back to Katya, who is now going over her multi-coloured toenails with a glittery topcoat.

“When’s Pearl back? You must be desperate to skate again.”

The skatepark near their college room is taken over by straight white boys blasting shitty EDM and smoking weed, so her and Katya tend to avoid it.

“Pearl gets back from beauty school tomorrow I think,” Katya hums in reply. “Do you know about Naomi?”

“A few days? Kim said she was doing labs or something for extra credit so she had to stay back.”

Katya laughs. “That sounds about right. As soon as she’s back we’re having a movie night. Literally, the very second, I’ll be waiting at her house. Ooh, and a beach bonfire.”

Trixie nods in agreement. She’s used to Katya’s kidnapper-esque tendencies at this point. It’s all part of the charm.

She can’t wait for this, for long hazy days at the skate park and the beach, for tanning and seeing her friends (who are family at this point, basically, she’s know Naomi and Pearl since her mom moved back here seventeen years ago. There are pictures of them at kindergarten together, pictures of them age six, Naomi and Pearl on matching skateboards and Trixie in her pink barbie roller skates).

She surveys her room from the kingdom of her bed, with its fluffy pink blanket and her assorted teddy bears. There are boxes everywhere, overflowing with clothes and cooking equipment and books. She really should unpack. 

“D’ya wanna go get icecream?” She asks Katya, who grins up at her. It’s slightly scary, seeing as Katya currently has one leg twisted up behind her neck.

“And stop pretending like we’re going to unpack your room? Hell yeah.”

//

Pearl gets back the next day, and Trixie immediately cycles over to her house, Katya skateboarding alongside her. Pearl’s house is kind of a second home for all the girls. Her parents are massive hippies, and the house reflects that. It always smells slightly like weed and incense, the front a weathered beachy white, blankets covering every surface. Trixie loves it, and has always loved it. Pearl’s more of a minimalist, however, and keeps her bedroom painted light grey (it had seemed a very mature colour choice when they were fourteen), pieces of art and pictures of her friends stuck on the walls.

She’s stood outside on her balcony drinking a glass of water, clad in a floaty cream dress. As soon as she sees them, she grins down.

“Come up! Mom and Dad are out,” she calls, and Trixie dumps her bike outside next to the collection of Birkenstocks, skateboards and surfboards that comprise Pearl’s front porch.

Walking into Pearl’s house always reminds Trixie of when they went to a fortune teller’s tent at the circus that came to town last summer. There’s fabric draped everywhere, and multiple lamps that look like collections of shattered colourful glass stuck together. A window is thrown open in the living room, and the sea breeze rolls in. Pearl descends the stairs, jumps off the bottom step and throws herself at Trixie and Katya. Katya shrieks with laughter as they jump up and down, squeezing one another tightly. It’s the most excited Trixie’s seen Pearl in about four years, and she smiles at the thought and hugs her harder.

“It’s so good to see you,” Pearl whispers in her ear.

“How was your semester?” Katya asks, as they all eventually release each other and curl up on Pearl’s squishy red couch.

“Good, actually. Better than the others. It’s chill, y’know. Mom made chickpea and kale fritters if you guys want some.”

Trixie and Katya exchange a look. They’ve known Pearl long enough to also know that Pearl’s mom’s cooking is somewhat experimental. Pearl catches the look and laughs. 

“Good call. They’re gross.”

They spend the next half an hour updating each other on their lives. Despite all the texting and snapchatting, Trixie is a firm believer in the power of face to face deep and meaningful chats.

“And then, he just like…said I had no personality. And I was like, oh my god, and then he just _stared_ at me for like, twenty minutes. So I go ‘Do I have something on my face?’ and the whole class just _freezes_.” Katya and Trixie let out disbelieving laughs.

“What happened then? Please tell me you didn’t get kicked out,” Katya wheezes. 

Pearl gives them a lopsided smile. “Nah, I actually think it made him like me. And then I ended up getting top marks in the class,” she smiles slightly self-consciously as Trixie elbows her in delight. 

“Atta girl Pearl!” Katya crows, biting Pearl’s shoulder affectionately. It’s a weird Katya habit they’ve all grown to love (or at least grudgingly accept).

Trixie smiles as she watches Pearl jab Katya in the side in response, tickling her. Katya shrieks and bites her arm as Pearl redoubles her efforts, Trixie ducking to dodge flailing limbs. Honestly, it seems slightly unfair that all her friends possess the legs of supermodels. At the very least, it’s an extreme safety hazard. This is nice, though. She loves her friends (and she loves her new college friends, too, but this is her family pretty much) and she’s glad they’re happy. It’s gross and sentimental so she doesn’t share it, but she can’t even be that mad when Pearl almost takes out her eye with her big toe. 

“I bet you’re glad you didn’t…clam up,” she adds, and cackles at her own joke for a solid minute.

Katya and Pearl collapse in a fit of laughter after a moment, and a comfortable silence descends on them.

“Someone new moved in next door,” Pearl offers, picking at her chipped blue nail polish.

“Who?!” Trixie exclaims as Katya sits up straight, peering at Pearl incredulously. Classic Pearl, honestly, giving them the most exciting news they were likely to hear all summer after an hour of chilling. Literally no one moved to their town. It was the definition of sleepy coastal. The high school was good, and students came from all the nearby areas. But the town itself? There was a diner, which made the best ice cream this side of California, as far as Trixie was concerned. There were a few shops, the middle school where her mom worked, and that was pretty much it. Any new additions to the town population were Big News. In fact, Trixie thought, the last one had been Kim.

“I dunno,” Pearl drawls thoughtfully. “Some guy and his daughter, I think. Mom used to go to school with him, and he’s moved back. I didn’t see them, but apparently the chick’s our age. Studying at, like, Berkley or something.”

Trixie and Katya take a moment to process this information.

“Wait, so my mom probably knows him too,” Trixie concludes. Her mom had lived here as a kid before moving to Wisconsin. She moved back after her dad left them when Trixie was three, and her mom and Pearl’s have been friends since they were kids. 

Pearl hums in agreement. “Yeah, probably. Mom didn’t see the girl, but apparently there were a couple boards out the front, so we’ll probably see her around. I hope she’s hot.”

Trixie laughs at that. “Same. Oh my god, same.”

Their talk turns to speculation about the new girl and her dad. Trixie hopes she’s cool. And hot. And gay. Regardless, this is guaranteed to shake up their summer.

“Do you reckon we can spy on her from your room?” Katya asks. 

Pearl hits her. “Oh my god, Kat, that’s so creepy. And you can’t, I already tried.”

“Okay, we’re bound to see her at some point. There are literally like, two hundred people in this town. We’ll find her,” Trixie says confidently.

“And we will kill her.”

“Katya, no.”

Trixie has a good feeling about this summer. Because now, they have a project. Find And Befriend New Mysterious Girl. And Trixie? She fucking loves a project. 

//

Since the age of twelve, Katya, Pearl and Naomi have had a weird pact that they wouldn’t go to the skate park without each other. Trixie thinks it began when Naomi’s mom tried to make her stop skating and start up ballet, and Pearl and Katya had stopped skating in protest. They’d also made signs, featuring creative slogans such as ‘ballet is for losers’ (Pearl) and ‘knee pads are the future’ (Katya). Trixie had drawn a big poster of a skateboard and a ballet shoe holding hands. She’s always been a pacifist. They’d picketed Naomi’s house while she waved gratefully from her window. It hadn’t gone on very long, because Naomi’s mom made the best cookies and eventually bribed them inside with them. However, the refusal to skate lasted an impressive two weeks, and Naomi’s mom had eventually relented. Naomi’s mom was kind of a mom to all of them, and Trixie for one was very happy when she gave in.

It was Pearl and Naomi’s houses that Trixie cycled to late at night, when her mom’s new boyfriend got aggressive. She’d spent lots of nights sat on Pearl’s bed, cuddling her cat Moonbeam, or curled up on Naomi’s sofa while Mrs Smalls made them hot chocolate and brushed her hair.

So, when Naomi knocks on her front door two days later, home earlier than expected, she almost cries with happiness.

“Naomi!,” she shrieks, barrelling into the other girl, who promptly wraps her insane legs around Trixie’s middle. Even though she’s super tall, Naomi’s so slim that it’s become a running joke for the others to pick her up at any opportunity.

Eventually, Trixie lets her down. “I thought you were doing extra credit?” She asks.

Naomi grins toothily. “They ended up finishing early, so Mom and Dad picked me up this morning. Where’re Pearl and Kat?”

“They’re supposed to be coming over in like, fifteen minutes. They’ll be so happy you’re back, the skate park near college is super shitty.”

She gestures for Naomi to come in, and they settle down at the kitchen table, updating each other on their lives.

“So there’s this girl, Laila, and at first I kind of thought she was a bitch but she’s actually really cool and we’re rooming together next-” 

Naomi’s cute off by the familiar sound of Trixie’s door being slammed open in a way that only Katya can achieve. 

“модель!,” She, cries running into the kitchen. Pearl follows behind her casually, pulling Naomi into a hug once Katya releases her.

“устрица and I were just talking about you! Can we go skate?”  Pearl and Trixie laugh at Katya’s eagerness.  

“I brought my board,” Naomi grins back. “Let’s go.” 

They walk together to the park. As Pearl, Naomi and Katya discuss their semesters, Trixie follows slightly behind them. She’s content to walk here at the back, watching them. The three of them are all legs, long and athletic and soon to be bruised. Trixie watches the sidewalk, the crackle of heat against it as sneakers twang against the warm cement. The path to the skate park follows the line of the coast, a bank of grass sloping down to the sand. Across the sand, the ocean shimmers like a mirage and Trixie takes a deep breath. She feels like the hollow parts of her are being filled by the sounds of her friends, the cool sea breeze, the electric warmth of summer.

 “You okay Trix?” Naomi calls over her shoulder. Trixie stops, realises the others have turned to look at her, varied expressions of exasperation, mild concern and fondness mapping across their faces.  

“Yeah. Just thinking about how I can’t wait to see Pearl fall off her board,” she grins.  

“Hey! I’m a highly coordinated individual.”  

“устрица, you fall almost as often as Kim.”

 “That is such a lie, oh my god.”

 “Oh man, do you remember that time we did a dance recital in middle school and you fell off the stage?”

 “Please don’t remind me”

 “Pearl smash!”

 “I literally detest you all. I’m going to put hair remover in your shampoo.”

 “Nah, but then you wouldn’t have anyone to experiment on.” 

Their banter continues as they approach the skate park, Trixie and Katya walking behind Naomi and Pearl, who suddenly stop.  “Oof,” Trixie grunts, crashing into Pearl’s back.

‘What the fuck, guys.”  

She leans around Pearl and Naomi to ascertain what’s made them stop. The sight before her explains it.  There’s a person on the park already, a girl, Trixie now sees. She’s got long dark hair shoved under a purple helmet with a pattern of what look like cockroaches on it. Trixie can’t quite see because she’s moving so fast, crouching down as her board skims the upper lip of the bowl shaped slope in the centre of the park. She’s in dark, highwaisted shorts that accentuate what Trixie thinks might be the smallest waist she’s ever seen, and a red crop t shirt. The very sight makes Trixie tug her short pink skirt down over her thighs slightly self-consciously.  

“Who is _that_?” Naomi whispers. No one answers. They watch the girl in silence as she skates down a U-shaped ramp, jumping off at the top and yanking off her helmet.

 “Take a fucking picture, it’ll last longer,” she yells down at them.

 Pearl snorts a surprised laugh while Trixie rolls her eyes. Ugh. She just _knows_ in her gut that this girl is going to be a self-entitled brat.  

“Nice moves,” Pearl calls, making her way up the grassy slope towards the park itself. The others follow, and Trixie settles down on the grass in her usual position. The girl doesn’t say thank you, simply puts her helmet back on and continues skating.  Pearl shrugs, settling down next to Trixie to slide on her knee pads and helmet. Naomi and Katya follow suit. Trixie watches the girl, dislike curling up in her gut. She’s not sure exactly _why_ she doesn’t like her, but Trixie has a lot of faith in her gut, and it’s currently screaming _BAD IDEA_ at her.  

The others grab their boards and slide down the first ramp. Trixie loves watching them skate. They’re cohesive, sliding in between each other in a formation. Katya skates past her, letting out a whoop of joy, and Trixie smiles. The Mystery Bitch Girl, as Trixie is now calling her, sticks to her ramp, but Trixie can see her watching the others. She smirks. _Suck on that,_ she thinks, as Pearl does a kick flip. The other girl has slowed to a stop now, and, grabbing her board, climbs onto the grass opposite Trixie and sits down.  

“You’re kinda sloppy,” she calls down to Pearl, who pauses.

 “Alright, show me how it’s done,” Pearl shouts back. Trixie lets out a low whistle through her teeth.

She feels like she’s on a shitty MTV show.  Katya and Naomi have paused to watch, shooting looks each other.  The girl skates down next to Pearl and does a flip.  She’s good, even Trixie can tell.  

“Nice,” Pearl whistles appreciatively. “How do you do that thing, y’know, with your ankle.”

 The girl demonstrates again, and Pearl copies her. Soon, Naomi and Katya skate down to join them. Trixie watches in fascination and annoyance as the girl introduces herself as Violet.

 “Who’s Barbie on the bank?” Trixie hears Violet ask.

 “That’s Trixie,” Katya supplies.

 “She doesn’t skate,” Pearl adds.  

Fucking hell, guys, I’m right here, she thinks.

 Violet hums. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Some people just aren’t built for it.”  

“Trixie’s a really good rollerskater,” Naomi says defensively while Trixie seethes on the bank.  Katya and Pearl makes noises of agreement.

 “Right,” Violet intones, looking right at Trixie, who has a swift and coursing desire to flip her off.  

The conversation switches back to skating and Trixie zones it out, choosing to furiously text Kim.

 T: _oh my god kimothy when do you get home_

DonutFkr200: _two days, why?_

DonutFkr200: _is Pearl trying out her new makeup skills on you?? If it looks bad I want pictures_

DonutFkr200: _also is my contact name on your phone still DonutFkr200_

T: _ugh no but there’s this bitchy girl at the skate park and I think pearl is going to accidentally befriend her_

T: _ya it is and u know it’s never getting changed_

DonutFkr200: _what like she accidentally befriended me and katya? That didn’t turn out so bad_

T: _yeah but u and katya didn’t tell me I wasn’t ‘built’ for skating_

T: _I think I just got body shamed by someone who looks like a twelve year old boy_

DonutFkt200: _:0_  

DonutFkr200: _SHE WHAT_

 DonutFkr200: _was it a badly worded joke or is_ _she just terrible._

T: _I’ve decided she’s terrible and I need you back so u can sit with me and be mean about her_

DonutFkr200: _2 days fuck face_

DonutFkr200: _I’ll fight her if necessary_

T: _kimberlina_ _u couldn’t fight a bumblebee_

DonutFkr200: _I could try_

Trixie sighs and switches off her phone as Violet approaches her, skateboard over one shoulder. She twists her face into a glare, trying to ignore the fact that Violet is impossibly pretty. She’s all high cheek bones and pale skin, flushed with exertion. Her brows are high and dark, lips painted a perfect bright red, with a small beauty mark resting above her top lip. Trixie hates red lipstick.  

“Nice shirt,” Violet says as she walks past.

Trixie frowns deeper. She’s wearing a Dixie Chicks tour t-shirt, which is vintage and fucking _cool_ , thanks.

 “Sorry, who are you again?” She smiles sweetly up at Violet, whose face deepens into a frown. She rolls her eyes and walks away.

“Bye, Violet! Nice to meet you!” Katya shouts happily, and Violet turns around to give her a quick peace sign before dropping down her board and skating down the road.

 “I hate her,” Trixie yells down to the others, not caring if Violet hears her.  

Pearl smirks up at her. “Well, mission Find the New Girl and Befriend Her is officially bust.”  

Trixie groans. “I’m beginning to like Katya’s suggestion better.”  

// 

Katya sleeps over the night before Kim, Alaska and Bob get home. They’re lying on Trixie’s bed watching reruns of Brooklyn 99 when Katya turns and gives Trixie a ponderous look.  

“Have you asked your mom about Violet and her dad?”

 In all honesty, Trixie’s been thinking about Violet for the last day. Mostly how much she dislikes her, but also how nice she’d looked in that red t-shirt. Ugh. 

“Yeah. She said that her and Violet’s dad were friends in school. I just hope to god she doesn’t throw, like, a welcome dinner party.”

 Trixie’s mom is very big on being a highly welcoming woman. Honestly, Trixie is slightly surprised she hasn’t given up her job to become a full time hostess. Katya nudges her.

“She wasn’t _that_ bad. A little bratty, maybe.”  

Trixie sniffs. “I still don’t like her. I’ve decided.” 

Katya rolls her eyes and rests her head on Trixie’s shoulder in silence. They fall asleep like that until Trixie is rudely awakened by Katya shaking her shoulders.

“Alaska’s home!” She shouts, stripping wildly and pulling on an oversized t-shirt of Trixie’s as a dress. It looks annoyingly good on her. Trixie laughs and wanders into the bathroom to wash her face. Her makeup is light, if only because Katya’s excited bouncing has made her poke herself in the eye with a mascara wand twice. Trixie yanks a pink wrap top and a pair of denim shorts out of her cupboard and jams her feet into converse.  Trixie clambers onto her bike. It’s yellow and vintage style, with a big enough seat that Katya can sit behind her back to back as she cycles.  

“Alaska’s house or Kim’s?” She calls over her shoulder to Katya.  

“Naomi said Kim’s”. She takes the next right and pulls up outside Kim’s house.

Kim and Bob are pulling boxes out of Kim’s trunk while Alaska sits to the side on a pile of boxes, giving directions in her signature drawl.

 “No, place the cookery box on top of the fabric bo- KATYA!”  

As soon as she sees Alaska, Katya leaps off the bike in an unprecedented feat of agility and coordination and runs towards her. Trixie feels like she’s watching a romantic comedy as she dumps her bike while Katya and Alaska collide into each other’s arms. And then start furiously making out.

 “I’m here too!” she yells at them. Alaska waves while Katya gives her the finger and Trixie shakes her head, opening her arms to pull Kim and Bob into a group hug.

 “Merry summer,” Bob grins at her. Trixie reaches up and cuffs her bald head. “Merry summer,” she replies, stepping back to give them both approving looks. Kim’s makeup is, always, impeccable, and she’s wearing a long purple dress that Trixie just knows that she made herself. Bob’s dressed in a pair of denim cut-offs and a tied up flannel shirt.  

“How’s New York?” Trixie asks, helping them pull box after box of fabric supplies and play scripts out of the car.

 “The greatest place on earth, as always.”

 “C’mon Boob, you know California’s really your favourite.”  

“The very thought disgusts me.”

 “Well, I hope it doesn’t disgust you too much because you’re here for the next three months,” Kim chimes in. The top half of her body is completely submerged in the boot as she struggles to yank out a final suitcase.  

“Kim! Bob!” Naomi’s familiar voice makes the three of them turn around as the familiar figures of Pearl and Naomi appear skating down the street.

 “I’m here too!” yells Alaska, from where Katya is still clinging aggressively to her.

 “Sorry, we didn’t want to interrupt your reunion,” Pearl smirks at her as she jumps off her board and approaches the car. Another flurry of hugs is exchanged as they lug the boxes inside Kim’s house. Even Alaska and Katya relinquish their hold on each other enough to help, though Katya keeps a tight grip on Alaska’s hand. When they’re finished, the seven of them collapse in a sweaty circle on Kim’s front lawn.

 “You guys have so much _stuff_ ,” Katya whines, wiping an arm over her forehead.

 “You had an entire box of feathers and glitter when we moved,” Trixie reminds her.  

“Didn’t you also have another box of printed blazers?” Naomi ponders. “Who needs an entire box of printed blazers.” 

“They’re essentials,” Alaska defends Katya, who gazes at her adoringly and then bites her shoulder.

 “Ugh,” comes the collective response.

 “Speaking of rampant lesbianism,” Bob starts.

 “Were we talking about rampant lesbianism?” Pearl asks the sky.

 “With Katya and Alaska around, we’re always talking about rampant lesbianism,” Kim adds.

 “ _Anyway_ ,” Bob continues pointedly. “Trixie, do you have a girlfriend yet?” 

Katya scoffs loudly and then looks away when Trixie shoots her a glare. 

“I’ll take that as a no.”

 “We all know that I would’ve messaged the group chat.”

 “I know, I know, but I was still holding out hope.”

 “There’s a new girl in town. She’s hot,” Naomi offers.  

“Yeah, but she’s a raging cunt,” Trixie adds venomously.  

Pearl raises one perfect eyebrow at her. “That seems a little dramatic.”  

“She said I wasn’t _built_ for skating! And she insulted my t shirt.” 

Bob and Alaska both bark out laughs before smothering them unsuccessfully.

 “Sorry, it’s just that…I mean. Didn’t you break your ankle the last time you tried skating?” Alaska asks, trying to conceal her laugh.

 “That’s besides the point,” Trixie sniffs.  

“Yeah, who’s she to say who is or isn’t built for skating,” Kim adds.  

“Thank you, Kim. You’re all dead to me except for Kim.” 

“What did I do!” Naomi exclaims, lazily trying to kick Trixie from the other side of the circle.

 “You colluded.”

 Their bickering switches to plans for the summer. These mainly seem to involve movie nights, going to the beach, skating and avoiding all summer assignments. Trixie falls quiet and lets their voices drift above her hazily, blending in with the distant sounds of lawnmowers, the crash of waves against the sand and the gentle chirping of insects. It sounds like summer, she feels it seep into her pores. It’s the sound of possibility, stretching out in front of her. Three months with no responsibility, where she can lie around in the sun until she glows brown, eating fruit and listening to her friends. She relaxes further onto the grass and grins at the feeling, this sort of timeless wash of light and heat and joy.  

They make plans to meet at the skatepark the next morning as Alaska and Katya head back to Katya’s place. Naomi and Pearl skate back in the direction of their houses while Trixie cycles home slowly, revelling in the cool breeze as she zips through the streets. She’s approaching the diner when she sees something that makes her slow down even more. It’s Violet in a tight red dress, walking towards her and drinking a milkshake. The dress looks like latex, and Trixie shakes her head in disbelief. Who wears _latex_ in California, in the summer, to drink a milkshake? 

Her train of thought must be show up on her face, because as she cycles past Violet glares at her. Trixie shoots her back an equally venomous glare, and yells “I don’t think that dress is really _built_ for milkshakes.” 

She flies past before Violet can properly reply, though she hears her yelled response.

 “Stalking someone just for a shitty one liner is a new low!”

 Trixie smirks all the way home.

// 

“Hey mom,” she calls as she pads into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. Josephine is sat at the kitchen table reading a magazine.

 “Hey, honey,” her mom smiles at her. “How’re your friends?” 

“They’re good! Really good, it’s nice to have them back.”  

“I’m sure. Hey, Bea, I wanted to talk to you about something.” Her mom pats the seat next to her, indicating that Trixie should sit down. She settles on the seat, legs crossed as her mom peers over her reading glasses at her.

 “I’m sure Pearl’s already told you this, but my old friend Christopher has moved back into town. He has a daughter your age.”

 Trixie winces. Shit. Balls. She knows exactly where this conversation is going.  

“I was thinking about inviting them for dinner! Just to help them get settled back into the area. And you could make a new friend. I’m sure Violet could use a friend right now.”  

Her mom smiles at her earnestly and Trixie sighs, forcing a benign expression onto her face.

 “That sounds great, Mom.”  

When Trixie gets upstairs, she closes her bedroom door and sinks down on to the carpet.  

 _Fuck._  

 // 

“So _then_ Mom’s like they’re coming over for dinner. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” Trixie dramatically collapses back on to the cement. “Ouch.”  

“So when’s she coming over?” Alaska asks from where she’s lying on her stomach, watching Katya zoom around.

 “Tonight. I’m going to die. I’m already dead.”

 “I think you’re being slightly dramatic,” Kim adds, adding another daisy to her daisy chain.  

“When have I ever been dramatic in my life?”

 Alaska looks over at her and raises a single perfect eyebrow before turning back to watch Bob jump over a railing.

 “She has a point,” Kim shrugs.  

Trixie huffs.  

Relative silence fills the air for a few minutes, interrupted occasionally by the swooshing of skateboards and the caws of seagulls.

 “But what do I _wear_?” Trixie whines.  

Naomi skates over to her, jumping off her board and collapsing down next to her.  “You have your whiny face on. What’s the sitch?” 

“Violet’s going to Trixie’s house for dinner tonight and she doesn’t know what to wear,” Alaska explains, eyes not leaving Katya, who’s looking at them and dropping slowly into the splits. Trixie thinks this is their version of foreplay.

 “I need to look good. Like, really good.”

 “It sounds like you want to impress her,” Pearl drawls as she sits down next to Kim.  

“Who’s Trixie impressing?” Bob slides over to them.

 “No one!” Trixie shouts, just as Naomi and Kim say “Violet”.

 “Can everyone please stop raising their eyebrows judgementally at me,” Trixie requests of the group as a whole. She gets a collection of muttered ‘sorry’s’ as a conscious drawing down of eyebrows occurs around the circle.

 “Thank you. It’s not like I want to impress her, I just want to look so hot that she’s super intimidated and never talks to me again.”

 “So, you want to impress her,” Katya grins as she sits down on top of Alaska.  

And maybe Trixie does want to impress her. Trixie’s always felt a need to prove herself. Part of it comes from being surrounded by Pearl and Naomi, who regularly get stopped in the street and complimented, who’ve been offered modelling jobs since they were fifteen. And Trixie knows she’s pretty, okay, she has nice hair and warm eyes and she knows that lots of people like curves, anyway. But there’s still a part of her that’s conscious of her soft, rounded stomach, of her thighs and ass and breasts. There’s a tiny part of her that still feels like the thirteen year old girl that Jackson Matthews asked out on a date as a joke, and laughed at her when she said yes.

 The thing about Violet is that she looks untouchable. Where Trixie’s soft, Violet’s angular and cutting, like the high school mean girl she’s seen in so many films. She feels like the sort of person Trixie should be scared of, and Trixie hates being scared.

 So maybe she wants to look good, but it’s not for Violet, really, it’s for her. If a part of her is wondering what Violet’s going to wear, if it’s going to be that fucking latex dress, well. She ignores it.  

“I think you should go for slutty mall witch Barbie edition,” Katya suggests.  

“I was thinking more like…a dress?”

 “Oooh, what about the one you wore for Alaska’s birthday last year?” Naomi’s eyes light up.

 It’s not a bad idea, actually. The dress in question is a peachy wrap dress with a full skirt.

“It does make your ass look incredible,” Alaska drawls.

 “And your boobs,” Pearl adds.  

“And your waist,” Kim says.  

Trixie grins. Even though her friends are kind of the worst, she loves them. Her phone beeps with a message from her mom.  

“Fuck, I gotta go help mom pick out something for dinner. If you see Violet, ask if she has any allergies and text me immediately.”  

“I really want to believe you’ll use that information for good, but I just can’t trust it,” Bob smiles.

 Trixie shrugs. “Hives really work on some people.”

 // 

The process of doing her makeup has always been cathartic for Trixie. There’s something so incomparably freeing about being able to change your face completely with lines and colours and shadows. She adds a little more pink glitter to her eyes and fixes her liner wing. Sometimes, she wants to feel like she’s not a real person. It’s like, with her makeup, she can create a mask of confidence and poise and elegance. Well, elegance might be a bit strong, but there’s something so oddly freeing about being able to control people’s perceptions of you. She swipes a little lip gloss over the top and fluffs up her curly blonde hair. She looks good, tightening the tie around her waist a little more and tugging down the deep v of the dress.  

The doorbell twangs distantly and Trixie sighs, rolls her shoulders and takes a deep breath just as her phone beeps.  

Bird Woman of Alcatraz: _good luck!! Be nice!! Save me some of your mom’s casserole!!_

Trixie laughs and locks her phone, throws it on the bed and straightens her skirt again.  

She’s not _nervous,_ nervous is the wrong word. She’s just…wary. Because she doesn’t like Violet and Violet doesn’t like her but she can’t be openly rude because her mom will get mad and Trixie’s kind of a brat but she’s not _that_ much of brat. She doesn’t know about Violet, though.  

As she heads down the stairs she hears Josephine wittering.

 “Violet, it’s so lovely to see you. And what a gorgeous dress! Trixie’s so excited to meet you.”

 “We’ve already met, actually.”

 “Oh,” her mom falters. “Trixie must’ve forgotten to mention it! She should be along any moment now.” 

At that moment Trixie steps into the hallway, fake smile plastered onto her face. Violet’s dad is classically handsome, tall with dark hair, and he smiles at her politely, reaching out to shake her hand.

 “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she smiles, all honey and sweetness.

 “Violet.” She’s still honey and sweetness, but there’s an acid on her tongue that she can’t quite help.

 “Trixie. Such a delight to see you.” Violet’s voice is sugar coated steel as she offers her hand for Trixie to shake. Trixie thinks for one absurd moment that she’s supposed to kiss it. If her grip’s a little hard, well, Violet grips back just as firmly. Trixie can feel her nails in her palm and grimaces. There’s a sense of electricity in the air, different to the summer heat spilling under the doors and open windows. It’s a negative charge, Trixie thinks, a sign of impending lightning.

 “Alright, well then, why don’t we head into the dining room,” Trixie’s mom chirps brightly. As she begins chattering to Christopher, Trixie subtly gives Violet a once over. She’s wearing a tight black strappy dress that screams money and a pair of red pointed high heels. Her makeup is impeccable, a combination of blue eyeshadow and burgundy lipstick that somehow works. She’s taller than Trixie, partly because Trixie’s chosen to eschew shoes in a minor act of rebellion. Violet looks _wrong_ here, in her stupid pointy shoes and minimalist style, so painfully out of place with Trixie’s cosy home, with the photos of her and her mom and her distant family on every available surface and the collection of art (most of it Pearl’s) scattered across the walls. Violet looks like a fashion editorial, cold and uninviting, screaming _you’re not welcome here. This isn’t for you._  

They follow their parents in silence. Trixie’s mom has set the dining table with yellow placemats, and Violet and Trixie are forced to sit opposite each other. The pointed toe of Violet’s shoe hits Trixie’s shin with surprising amount of force as they sit down. Violet smirks. Trixie glares.

 “Trixie, honey, will you help me with the casserole for a second?”

 As Trixie removes the casserole for the oven, her mom pours glasses of wine. Just as Trixie moves to take the casserole into the dining room, a hand on her shoulder stops her.  

“Play nice, Beatrice. Violet…well, it’s none of our business, but she hasn’t had an easy life.”  

Trixie shrugs off her mom’s hand, a flash of irritation sparking through her. “What, like all of us have?” And with that, she heads back into the dining room, dropping the casserole onto the dining room table with a little more force than necessary. Unfortunately for Violet, her cutlery gets knocked to the floor. _Whoops._

 “This looks delightful, Miss Mattel,” Violet smiles sweetly as Trixie’s mom begins serving them.  

“Oh Violet, you’re too kind. Trixie always says my casserole looks like cafeteria food!” Christopher and Violet laugh politely as Violet shoots Trixie a smug look.

 “Trixie has no idea how lucky she is.”  

Trixie’s mom giggles. “Honestly, Trixie, I think you could learn a few things from Violet!” The three of them laugh and Trixie joins in briefly before glaring at Violet pointedly. She reaches across the dinner table to grab the pepper when her arm hits Violet’s wine glass, spilling it everywhere. Violet jumps up in horror as Trixie’s mom tries desperately to find napkins.  

“Oh my gosh, I’m _so_ sorry, Violet. I’m just such a klutz sometimes!” Trixie says apologetically, throwing a wad of napkins at the other girl. “It’s why I don’t skate, y’know. I’m a walking hazard to everyone around me.”

 “You don’t say,” Violet replies, smile tight.

 “Right, well, why don’t we start,” Christopher adds lightly, forcefully digging in to his casserole. “Josephine, this is delicious. Is this the same recipe your mother used to make?”  

That line of conversation draws Josephine and Christopher into reminiscing about high school. Trixie and Violet eat in stony silence. Whenever her mom stops looking, Trixie chews with her mouth open, revelling in Violet’s look of disgust. She wishes she was wearing heels so she could return Violet’s occasional kicks. After an especially hard one rocks the table slightly, Violet mouths _Sorry_ at her with an expression more akin to someone winning the lottery than feeling apologetic.  

It’s the worst dinner party of Trixie’s life, and she’s eaten Pearl’s mom’s cooking more than once.  

“So Trixie, your mom says you’re studying musical theatre. That must be exciting,” Christopher smiles at her.  

“Oh yeah, I love it. I want to be a singer songwriter when I’m older, or maybe go into a professional theatre company.”

 Violet snorts quietly.

 “What do you do, Violet?” she asks, sensing that her smile has taken a slightly manic edge.

 “I always preferred more…practical subjects. I’m an English major.”

 “Oh yeah, I guess a categorical knowledge of Shakespeare’s greatest works is a real asset when entering the workforce.” 

“Actually, I’m specialising in twentieth century American literature.”

 “Oh right, so mostly misogynistic white men writing about the American dream and celebrating the patriarchal institutions and capitalism that determine our future? That’s very progressive of you. How poignantly relevant to today’s society.”

 “I think it is quite progressive, actually. It’s a cultural, literary exploration of the nation’s psyche. Which is maybe more relevant to the future than tap dancing on stage for tips.”  

Christopher laughs nervously as Josephine shoots Trixie a pointed look. The sound of scraping knives on plates fills the air as Trixie stabs the last bite of her casserole with vehemence.  

“Trixie, why don’t you fetch dessert?”

 “Sure thing! I can tapdance my way to the kitchen if y’all want a show,” she smiles sweetly at Christopher, who laughs nervously again.  

“That won’t be necessary, honey. Maybe after dessert.” Her mom is shooting her murder eyes and Trixie takes that as her cue to escape.

 Her mom has bought fresh peaches for dessert, and Trixie brings them to the table with her hips swaying. Peaches are her favourite fruit, and she likes to think she’s a little like one. She takes a forceful bite of hers as she sits down elegantly, crossing one tan leg on top of the other. Her dress slides down a little, and she catches Violet’s eyes slip momentarily to her chest. A dribble of juice slides down her chin and she wipes it absentmindedly.  Violet takes a piece of fruit and bites it delicately. Trixie’s never seen someone eat peaches like Violet does. It’s all small bites, the sight of bright white teeth scraping against orange flesh. Trixie watches her tongue, pink and pretty, catch a drop of juice out of the corner of her mouth. No one should look that good eating fruit, and Trixie has to look away. She’s blushing and she doesn’t know quite why except it’s grazing her chest and shoulders with blooming red. She wipes her mouth with her wrist, dropping the stone into the bowl after sucking it. Violet drops her stone in right after her.

 “I have an idea!” Trixie’s mom exclaims.

“Trixie, why don’t you take Violet upstairs to your room. You can show her your tap shoes, and Christopher and I can catch up while we clear the dishes.”  

Her mom’s trying to throw her a lifeline. What she doesn’t realise is that she’s just fully sunk the SS Trixie. Trixie can think of about ten painful things she’s rather do than take Violet to her room, including but not limited to: hearing Alaska and Katya have sex, letting Pearl drunkenly curl her hair and eating Katya’s home made pasta.

 “Sure. Violet?”

 “I can think of nothing I’d rather do.”

Violet follows Trixie wordlessly up the stairs to her bedroom, her heels lacking obnoxiously on the floor. Trixie throws open the door to her bedroom.  

“I’d say make yourself at home, but I don’t actually want you to feel comfortable, so.”  

Violet’s looking around her room with an abject look of horror. Trixie’s bay window is upholstered in baby pink, accompanied by hot pink cushions. There are pictures of her friends covering every available surface, her guitar propped up against the corner next to her wardrobe. On her bookshelf there’s a row of her Barbies and soft toys on display which Trixie now feels like she should’ve hidden. Finally, Violet’s eyes fall on the giant pink bed in the middle of the room, covered in a fluorescent fluffy pink blanket and a mountain of cushions, including one printed with Katya’s face (it had been her Christmas present from Alaska). The silence stretches for a painful set of minutes as Trixie sits on her bed and scrolls through instagram, ignoring Violet. 

“Your bedroom looks like Lisa Frank had a threesome with a unicorn and a Care Bear and it gave her digestive problems.”  

“Well, not all of us choose to sleep in a coffin.”

 “Oooh, vampire analogies. Clever _and_ original.”

“I felt your Lisa Frank comparison was a little laboured. Especially since you’re going to change the world with your English major.”

“I’m pretty sure writing for the New York Times is going to have more impact on the world than whatever off-off-off-Broadway piece of shit you end up on.”

 Trixie glares at Violet, who’s sat down at her dressing table and is filing her nails.

 “I’ll be sure to look out for your name in the obituaries when you murder your sugar daddy, honey. It’s going to be hard to keep pretending you’re talented when your pretty fades.”

 “Aw, you think I’m pretty.”

 “Aw, I think you’re a cunt.”

 “Vi, time to go!” Christopher calls from downstairs.  

Violet shoots her a last look before storming elegantly out of the room. Trixie wanders down to wave them off. As the front door closes behind them, Trixie heaves a sigh of relief.  

“Beatrice, I expect better of you.” Her mom looks…hurt, and Trixie _hates_ Violet for a split second, hates that she forces her into a role she never wants her mom to see.  “Mom, I-” Josephine shakes her head and Trixie closes her mouth. Wordlessly, she goes back up to her room as her mother moves into the kitchen. She kind of wants to cry, suddenly, and hates the feeling. She wants to talk to Katya. _Needs_ to talk to Katya, actually. There’s something about Katya that always makes her feel slightly more able to be a better person.

Trixie remembers the first time she met Katya. It had been in fifth grade, on the first day of class. Katya had bounded in, in ripped shorts, a striped shirt and jelly shoes, all tan and gangly with a mess of blonde hair. 

“Class, this is Brian. He just moved here from Russia!”

Trixie remembers the look on Katya’s face, the way she crossed her arms over her chest defensively and in her thick Russian accent said, “My name is Katya.”

“Pardon?” Their teacher had asked, confusion written all over her face. 

“My name. Is. Katya,” she had emphasised. Trixie remembers being impressed by the girl’s nerve. Between the early confrontation and Katya’s thick accent, people had kind of avoided her. Apart from Pearl. On Katya’s second day, she’d been sitting alone in the corner, eating a sandwich. Pearl approached her, Naomi and Trixie following shyly behind. 

“Sup, I’m Pearl,” she’d drawled. “My older sister’s like you, I think. Cool jelly shoes.” With that, Pearl sat down and Naomi and Trixie followed suit. Ever since then, Katya had been firmly part of the gang. It was Trixie, Naomi and Pearl who later fought for gender neutral bathrooms, who insisted that their sex ed be trans inclusive, and who cheered the loudest when Katya made cheer squad.

Trixie remembers the moment when she knew Katya and her were going to be best friends. It was a few months after she first arrived, at Sharon Needles’s birthday sleepover extravaganza.

“My mom got me an Ouija board,” Sharon grinned. “Let’s play.” 

Even though nothing happened, the whole incident scared Trixie out of her mind, never minding that she was already scared of the dark, and had left her favourite teddy (Geraldine) at home for fear of public ridicule. Long after everyone fell asleep, Trixie lay awake, paralysed by fear. 

“Hey, цветок, are you okay?' Katya whispered next to her.  

“I’m scared of the dark,” Trixie whispered back, bright red with embarrassment. “And ghosts.”

Katya hummed thoughtfully next to her. “Come with me. I have a plan.”

Trixie and Katya snuck out onto Sharon’s back porch, Trixie gripping Katya’s cold hand in her own sweaty one.

“Okay,” Katya said seriously. “I will tell you a secret.” She leaned in, beckoning Trixie forward. “I also used to be scared of the dark, until my babushka showed me this. It scares away the heeby jeebies of the night.”

And with that, Katya began to flail around in a ritualistic manner, waving her arms and legs and chanting “booba yooba booba yooba booba yooba BAH”. It was so funny that Trixie forgot to be scared, keeling over in stifled laughs.

“Come on, your turn. Together we will scare away all of the ghosts.” So Trixie had joined in, and they’d danced around Sharon’s porch chanting until they collapsed into a giggling pile, falling asleep under blankets on the porch swing.

From that moment on, Katya had been the first person Trixie told anything. She was the first person Trixie came out to, the first person she called when she got into the musical theatre course she wanted (and somehow, miraculously, the two of them had got into UCLA together), the first person apart from her mom to hear her sing one of her own songs. In fact, Katya had been there when Trixie had her first kiss, with a cute red haired exchange student from Seattle called Jinkx. In return, Katya told Trixie everything. Including, during their senior year, her plan to woo Alaska, the most popular girl in school.

Along with her friends Roxxxy (she’d added the extra x’s in eighth grade) and Detox, they ruled the school. Trixie liked all of them – Roxxxy had been in her textile class and she did drama with Alaska, but they were still intimidating. Alaska was beautiful, all long bow legs and icy blonde hair in a messy pile on top of her head, lips perfectly glossed. She was also Sharon’s ex-girlfriend, and their dramatic breakup had rocked the whole school  (in the literal sense. An exploding Bunsen burner had been involved).

Katya had been crushing on Alaska since ninth grade when she cut her knee during science class and Alaska dared her to lick it (in hindsight, Trixie realised this was where Alaska’s full weirdo flag really began to fly. She didn’t pretend to understand. Katya licked blood; she played the clarinet.) 

And Katya had never been, well, subtle. Ever. It was one of the things Trixie loved about her, but as Kim said, she couldn’t be more obvious about her crush if she wore an ‘I <3 Alaska’ tourist t-shirt. In fact, Kim and Naomi bought her one for her sixteenth birthday, and she wore it to school for two weeks straight. Alaska told her it was cute on the third day, and Trixie had had to take Katya to the bathroom for a breather. While Sharon and Alaska had been together, Katya waited on the sidelines, biding her time. Sometimes literally, god knows they’d engineered enough false meetings and ‘accidental’ collisions with Alaska. In Trixie’s mind, anyone would be ridiculous to refuse Katya. She was beautiful, all high cheekbones and bright smile which she painted red every morning. Despite being constantly bruised from skating, her legs were lovely and tan, her hair long and blonde (Trixie remembers when she’d stopped cutting it, much to her aunt’s chagrin. She remembers finding Katya crying in the school bathroom after her aunt chopped some of it off and pulling her into a crushing hug. She’d styled it for her, twisting it into little braids and buns and curls, until it had grown long again.)

The Alaska-Sharon break up happened in the last semester of their junior year, before Alaska was whisked away to her namesake state for the summer. It was at this point when they’d concocted ‘Plan Icemelter: Global Warming Part II – This Time It’s Personal’. Naomi had come up with the name, and it sort of just stuck. The first part of the plan was for Katya to ask Alaska for a dance at the Spring Fling, the only school event where no one brought dates.

Katya had been freaking out the whole night, even though she looked beautiful in a sparkly red dress (Trixie and Naomi had chosen it), while Kim did her makeup and Pearl fixed her hair.

“I can’t do this, цветок,” Katya whispered, clutching Trixie’s hand in her own sweaty one. She’d spent the night alternatingly downing cups of non-alcoholic punch, running to the bathroom and dancing with her friends while staring at Alaska.

“Hey, it’s not a big deal if you don’t ask her now. There’s always homecoming. And prom!” Trixie told her in her most reassuring voice. “C’mon, let’s dance.”

So she’d let Katya twirl her around the dancefloor until a long finger tapped her shoulder. Alaska’s familiar drawl cut over the sounds of Cascada’s ‘Everytime We Touch’. “Trixie, I hope you don’t mind but…Katya, may I have this dance?”

The look on Katya’s face is forever immortalised in Trixie’s mind. Sometimes she wishes she had a photo of it to use as a reaction picture. 

“Oui, mon Cherie,” she’d finally replied, and pulled Alaska into the world’s weirdest slow dance, involving excessive splits and the occasional dip, despite Alaska being about a foot taller than her.

After that, Katya had asked Alaska to homecoming dance. This was not entirely seamless, as it involved about a week of Katya not knowing whether to ask Alaska to eat lunch with them. The answer was, obviously, yes, and after that Alaska also became firmly integrated into the group. After winning Homecoming Queen, it was Alaska who started an aggressive, and successful, campaign to get Katya elected Prom Queen. It was at that moment Trixie deemed her a Good Egg, and welcomed her into their circle with open arms.

So, in terms of friendship, Trixie and Katya are pretty tight. Trixie’s quietly sure that in another universe, they’re in love. Which is why, when she informs Katya that Violet is “the world’s heinousiest heinous bitch,” she’s a little upset by the reply.

Katya cackles down the line. “Sorry, цветок, but I have to disagree. Plus, I think it’s ‘most heinous’, not ‘heinousiest’.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe we’ve reached the point where you’re correcting my English. And what the fuck, Kat?! What about sisterhood? What about supporting your friends in their times of need? Against heinous bitches?” Trixie whines dramatically, spreading herself across her fluffy pink bedspread. That she _likes_ , thanks very much, fuck you Violet.

“I think maybe you are over exaggerating. Just slightly. She’s funny! I seriously thought you would get on well. She’s kind of like you-”

“That is the worst thing you have ever said to me.”

“Worse than when I told you that your hair in pigtails looked like two little gerbils living on your head?”

Trixie pauses for a moment. “Not quite. But it’s up there. Anyway, how do you know she’s funny?”

She can hear Katya’s shrug over the phone. “She’s a good skater. Pearl complimented her helmet and she said she did the design herself. She came by the park after you left and we got talking. She’s chill. Bitchy as fuck, but kind of funny in a mean way. Like someone else we know.”

“Kim?”

“No, you absolute disgrace. Like you!”

“Katya, when have I ever been mean in my life ever.”

“Just yesterday you told Lasky that her vocal fry made you want to fry in her hot oil.”

Trixie considers this, before choosing to ignore the criticism. 

“But still. She’s terrible. She said my bedroom looked like Lisa Frank had diarrhoea after she had a three way with a Care Bear and a unicorn,” Trixie whines. 

“I mean…it is very…pink?” Katya offers tentatively.

“Katya, you lost my virginity on my bed! Don’t tell me you hate it! This day is full of heartbreak.”

“No no цветок, I don’t hate it! You know I love it! It’s so fluffy, and your bed has a special place in my heart.” 

Trixie snorts, slightly abated.

“All I’m saying is that everyone deserves a second chance.”

“That’s very wise of you. Have you been reading Cosmo again?”

“Yes, and Women’s Health. Anyway, I have to go цветок, I said I’d meet Pearl and Naomi tomorrow morning at the park.” Katya pauses. “Violet will probably be there. I’ll wear pink in your honour. I love you! And sleep on it.”

Trixie sighs. “Love you too, say hi to everyone for me. Not Violet, though.” 

Katya’s snort is the last thing she hears before she hangs up.

She sighs dramatically and rolls around her bed.

Maybe Katya’s right. But also, Katya is one of the most aggressively kind-hearted people Trixie’s ever met. Trixie decides to let herself wallow in dislike a little longer.

And if she wakes up frustrated after a long night of dreams framed by dark hair and bruised knees and expanses of pale skin, well. No one has to know.

//

Trixie thinks about Violet a lot. Mostly because Pearl, Katya and Naomi have now officially befriended her. Trixie spends most of her time drinking milkshakes, tanning, looking at latex dresses on Pinterest and not talking to Violet when she sees her at the skate park. It’s not hard, really, she chills on the sidelines with Kim and Alaska and sometimes Bob. They talk about books and films and make idle plans to go swimming that haven’t actually eventuated. The summer still feels stretched, though, infinite and glowing, and Trixie’s content to lie on the cement and feel herself grow gold and hazy. Then, about a week after the dinner party from hell, Violet does something unprecedented. She approaches the group on the sidewalk, slightly stiffly. The four of them look up from their conversation about the merits of young Paul Rudd versus young Leonardo DiCaprio. Trixie is vaguely annoyed that Volet’s interrupted her impassioned defence of Paul Rudd by throwing down her skateboard noisily.

“Did you make that dress?” She asks Kim. The dress in question is one of Trixie’s favourites, a deep red tea length with fluttering sleeves.

“Yeah, I did,” Kim replies, voice betraying slight suspicion. Trixie loves her. 

“Woah. Do you mind if I, like, touch it? I’ve never managed to work with that fabric before. The lines are stunning.”

Kim smiles, clearly pleased. “Yeah, it was kind of a nightmare to sew, but I love the way it catches the light. Do you design?” 

Violet takes this an invitation to sit down as Alaska moves to let her into the circle. Violet absentmindedly plucks a blade of grass that’s growing resolutely through a crack in the concrete. 

“Yeah, my mom taught me. I make most of my own clothes.”

Kim hums appreciatively as they embark on a complex discussion about sewing machines, fabric and needlework that Trixie doesn’t even attempt to follow, Kim telling Violet about her costume design course. And if Trixie’s a little miffed that Violet seems so interested in Kim’s degree when she’d basically called hers worthless, she thinks she hides it well.

“Kat said you designed your helmet yourself. Are those roaches?” Alaska asks, and Violet beams proudly. It’s annoyingly endearing.

“Yeah. I just wanted to do something, like, kinda creepy you know? You’re Alaska, right? Katya’s girlfriend?”

“That I am. I trust you’ve only heard wonderful things.” 

“Of course. I’m Violet.” 

“Kim,” Kim smiles at her. “Bob,” Bob adds. Traitors.

Violet looks right at Trixie, who’s still fuming. 

“Tracy.”

“Viola.”

Bob snorts a laugh. “God, you two are as ridiculous as Naomi said.”

Violet colours a little at that, but so does Trixie.

“Hey, I never claimed to be a rational human being,” Trixie elbows Bob. Violet laughs slightly, and then covers it when Trixie looks at her in surprise.

“Your legs are incredible,” her gaze turns to Bob, who grins at the praise, sticking her leg dramatically in the air.

“Thanks.” She shoots Trixie a pointed Look, that Trixie pointedly ignores.

The conversation turns to skating and Trixie listens impassively as Bob talks about roller derby and Violet mentions that she designed costumes for friend’s team. Clearly, Violet has the capability of being nice. Just not, it seems, to Trixie. Which is fine. Trixie doesn’t think she has the emotional strength to cope with Violet being nice.

Because the thing about Violet, she thinks, the reason why she dislikes her so much, is because Katya’s right. She looks at Violet and sees a little bit of Trixie, and she’s not sure she likes what she sees. Or maybe she does like it, she doesn’t know. Violet’s an enigma, all super model looks and bruised knees, catty comments and barking, inelegant laugh. She’s a contradiction that Trixie doesn’t know how to respond to. She knows _why_ her friends like Violet, because a lot of it is the same reason they like her. 

“I better go, my dad’s expecting me for dinner soon. It was cool to meet you all. Pearl and stuff talk about you a lot,” Violet says eventually, standing up elegantly and grabbing her board. The others chime their goodbyes.

“Bye, Tracy,” Violet adds pointedly.

“Au Revoir. Don’t trip on the pavement,” Trixie replies with a sarcastic wave. Violet smirks and jumps on her board, skating down the path and out of sight. A silence descends over the group as Trixie pointedly doesn’t make eye contact.

“Viola and Tracy sounds like a kids detective show,” Kim eventually says.

Trixie hates that she’s right. 

//

Slowly but surely, Violet becomes part of the group. In the deep, dark pits of her, Trixie doesn’t mind. Because there’s a part of her (a big part, if she really admits it) that likes this, the biting and the acid and the bitchiness. It’s kind of fun, not that she’d ever tell Violet that. They’re at Alaska’s house one evening, Kim and Naomi engaged in the most intense game of snap Trixie’s ever seen. It’s raining, has been for three days. Summer rain has always been intoxicating and fascinating to Trixie, the way it makes the air heavy and slow and the flowers smell even sweeter. Alaska and Katya are curled up on the bed, talking softly while Pearl does Bob’s makeup, Violet watching and critiquing her technique occasionally until Pearl throws a lipstick tube at her.

Trixie sits on a cushion, watching the rain out of the window. “I’m bored,” Violet suddenly chimes. “Let’s play a game.”

“Simmer down, Jigsaw,” Trixie can’t help adding, grinning to herself. Violet hits her in the back of the head with a pillow.

“I think we have Cluedo somewhere,” Pearl stands up, replacing the cap on her mascara. 

“No, we can’t play Cluedo anymore because Katya always wins,” Naomi reminds her.

“It’s my latent psychic energy. I can’t help it,” Katya shrugs.

“Settlers of Catan?”

“Too long,” Alaska chimes in.

“Trivial Pursuit.”

“Alaska and Bob get too competitive,” Trixie cautions, prompting splutters of protest from the accused.

“Monopoly?”

“NO!” Comes the collective response.

“We’re still scarred from the Christmas Incident of 2015,” Katya says quietly. A shudder passes through the room.

“Trixie and Katya didn’t talk to each other for three days. Pearl broke my mom’s favourite vase. Kim stress ate so much popcorn that her tongue swelled up. It was a dark time,” Naomi informs Bob and Violet.

Violet raises an eyebrow at them. “I was thinking more like truth or dare.”

“Are we actually thirteen?” Trixie turns around dramatically to give Violet a derisive look. 

“I mean, you dress like a thirteen year old, so.” 

“Oooooooooh,” Naomi and Pearl chorus.

“Shade,” Kim whispers as the others laugh.

“A really slutty thirteen year old,” Katya adds defensively, prompting even Violet to break out into peals of laughter.

“Thanks, Katya.”

“No problem.”

“So, truth or dare,” Alaska interrupts. “I’ll go first.”

“Truth or dare?” Naomi asks.

“Hmmmmm. Truth.”

“Who’s better in bed, Katya or Sharon?” Kim grins innocently. Clearly this game is taking no prisoners. Trixie catches Katya’s eye. Her face is schooled into a ‘this is fine’ expression that Trixie knows is fake. Alaska thinks for a moment.

“Katya.” She pecks her girlfriend on the cheek. Trixie sees the way Katya’s face lights up and smiles.

“Kim, your turn,” Trixie instructs.

“Truth.”

“Fuck, marry, kill – Trixie, Violet or Naomi,” Bob asks with a sly smile.

“Marry Naomi and then lock Violet and Trixie in a room until they either fuck or kill each other.” The room erupts into laughter while Trixie blushes aggressively and tries to hide it. She knows that Kim’s joking, but holy shit. She sneaks a glance at Violet, who’s laughing unconvincingly. 

The game shifts to dares, but after Pearl almost accidentally shaves off her own eyebrows while blindfolded, Violet offers to do a truth.

“What are you most scared of?” Trixie’s voice startles her. She hadn’t meant to actually ask Violet something serious, but the words left her mouth before she could properly consider them. The others look at her in surprise, and she shrugs from where she’s hanging upside down off the bed.

Violet looks at her properly then, and an odd expression that Trixie can’t quite place flits across her face before she looks down at her hands.

“I’m not really scared of anything.”

Trixie scoffs at that, can’t help the disbelieving sound escaping her throat. Because that’s so obviously Violet, isn’t it, all arrogance and self-assuredness.

“Like, life’s too short to go around being scared of everything. I’m not a coward.”

“Yeah, but being scared of things doesn’t make you a coward. It makes you human,” Trixie argues. She doesn’t know why she’s arguing, really, except that there’s a part of her than desperately wants Violet to be as flawed and human and scared as she is.

“Is it better to be human if you’re scared of everything, though? Like, what’s the point." 

“What, so you’d rather be an emotionless robot?”

“I didn’t say that. I just mean that, like, I don’t think there’s any reason to walk around being scared of, like, death or whatever. Because then you spend your whole life worrying.”

A silence descends upon the room as Trixie tries to think of a response.

“Big dogs do make me kind of nervous though.” Violet laughs once, slightly embarrassed as the others join her. Trixie doesn’t join in. Her face is replaying that little noise, that utterly human sound that she wasn’t convinced Violet could ever make. 

Katya shoots her a look and Trixie manages a weak smile.

“What’re you scared of, Trix?” Naomi queries, hooking her chin over her drawn up legs.

“Oh, the usual. Heights, the day when I accidentally walk in on Alaska and Katya having sex.”

It’s not a real answer and she knows it. She knows the others know it too, but they ignore it.

Because there’s an answer beating quickly against her rib cage, and she doesn’t know if she wants to accept it just yet. 

_Violet._

//

The rain doesn’t stop for another three days. She likes to stand outside and feel the warm water cloak her while her mascara runs and her hair gets tangled and her breath gets tight and foggy and hot. Her mom doesn’t understand it, and always tells her to come inside, but she doesn’t. Katya gets it, and some days they walk along the beach together while it’s raining. They wear long dresses and let their hair get matted and salty and their skin get warm and cold and back again and then they go to Katya’s aunt’s house and shower and put on jumpers and eat pizza with the window open. Trixie’s braiding her thick hair back, ties it with a pink ribbon as she sits on Katya’s colourful rug. Katya’s absentmindedly pulling a thread out of her too big, bright yellow socks. They’re both in the oversized jumpers Katya’s babushka sends her from Russia every Christmas, always in some shade of green.

“So, Violet.” Katya’s voice emerges from the vicinity of her sock, where she’s now attempting to pull the thread out with her teeth. It’s strangely fascinating. 

“So, Violet.” Trixie keeps her voice neutral, even though it’s not worth trying to hide anything from Katya ever. The rain outside gets heavier, occasionally blowing through Katya’s open window. It should be too hot for jumpers, the newsman had said they were likely to get a summer storm tonight. It’s tradition for Trixie and Katya to watch these storms together, eyes wide with wonder as lightning ignites the whole ocean. It always feels dangerous and thrilling and _wrong_ , like they’re sneaking in to a gods-only show.

“You want to kiss her.” Katya stretches her arms over her head and her shoulders pop as her shorts ride slightly up her thigh, revealing a set of purple bruises. Trixie doesn’t know if they’re from skating or Alaska, but she pokes one anyway and Katya hisses at her.

“Kinda, yeah.” She takes a thoughtful bite of pizza. “But a lot of the time I also want to shake her until her teeth rattle.”

“That’s slightly problematic.” Katya grabs the slice of pizza and takes a bite, even though she has a perfectly good piece of her own.

Trixie takes Katya’s slice in retaliation, flicking a rogue piece of pepperoni onto Katya’s tan calf. Katya shrugs and pops it into her mouth while Trixie wrinkles her nose in disgust. 

“Yeah. Plus, I’ve seen the way she looks at Pearl. It’s not like someone like Violet would ever go for me even if I wanted her to, which I don’t.” She says it quickly, as though getting it all out in one breath will make it hurt less. 

The frown on Katya’s face is gentle. “Don’t say that, цветок. All of us have looked at Pearl like that. I have, and you have too. It’s not your place to decide whether or not Violet is attracted to you. You are beautiful.”

“Thanks Kat,” she sighs, absentmindedly tracing the swirls of Katya’s rug with her index finger. Her nail polish is chipped, but she hasn’t taken it off yet because Violet said to Kim on Thursday that chipped nail polish is her ultimate pet peeve and Trixie wants her to notice how much she doesn’t care. It’s kind of convoluted. Trixie never said she had everything figured out. “But even if I am beautiful, it doesn’t mean I want Violet to look at me that way. We’re like two negative charges. It would never work. And I don’t like her, anyway. Being attracted to her doesn’t mean I feel things for her. Remember when I was attracted to you?”

She gives Katya a weak smile, which Katya doesn’t return. Instead, she grabs Trixie’s hand and kisses it once, a silent acknowledgement of painful conversations and questions of the past. Trixie’s felt heartache before, but she can smile at it now.

“I just want you to be happy, Trixie.” 

“But Violet doesn’t make me happy. She makes me frustrated.”

“I see you when you’re arguing. You’re full of fire.”

“Fire’s destructive.”

“Fire is _powerful._ ”

Trixie groans and launches herself onto her stomach, propping her chin on Katya’s shins.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

Katya absentmindedly unties the ribbon from Trixie’s hair and ties it back up again.

“Neither do I, really. It’s just my latent psychic powers in action.” Trixie slaps her thigh and Katya squawks with laughter. They sit in silence for a few moments.

“No lightning,” Trixie hums into Katya’s calf. 

“Not yet. Hey, if the weather turns tomorrow, let’s all go to the beach. I haven’t swum all summer and these rattling bones need soaking.”

‘Oh honey? Those bones honey? There’s less calcium in them than vegan cheese. You’re basically made of toothpicks. Forget Bird Woman of Alactraz, you’re the world’s shittiest scarecrow, honey.”

Katya slaps at her ineffectively.

“God, I’m going to murder you in your sleep one day?”

“What, death by splinters?”

They laugh as the rain continues. A lightning bolt flashes past the window, but they miss it. It doesn’t really matter.

//

It’s sunny the next day, and Trixie messages their group chat with instructions to meet at the beach at twelve. Katya texts Violet separately, telling her to join or beware. Trixie pretends she feels fine, but rejects Katya’s offer of borrowing a swimsuit and walks home in the borrowed jumper to find her favourite pair of high waisted bikini bottoms that Naomi says she looks like a pin up in.

She’s the last one to arrive, a white crop tee pulled over her bikini top as she dumps her bike lazily on the grassy bank. It’s pleasantly quiet, most of the families choosing to stick to the shallower end of the beach a mile or so down. Violet’s looking at her from under a big floppy hat, and Trixie tugs the hem of tee shirt down further over her stomach. Then, she mentally tells herself off for doing it, straightens her shoulders, and swings her hips as she walks down to join the others on the sand. She flops down next to Kim, yanking off her shirt and haphazardly applying sunscreen to her arms and chest. Every so often, she sneaks a glance at Violet, who’s characteristically stunning in a tiny red bikini. Of course. There’s something about Violet that looks slightly wrong on the beach, though. Maybe it’s her pale skin and dark hair, all at odds with the gold of the beach, the gold that Trixie feels so at home in. It’s a dichotomy, but not an ugly one. It’s just eye catching, and Trixie finds herself staring at Violet, who’s not wearing makeup and looks beautiful all the same. It’s a soft kind of pretty, a pretty that she’s not used to seeing on Vi’s particular set of angular features. It makes her stomach churn uncomfortably and she has to look away, watching her friends set up towels and slap on sunscreen, handing out pieces of fruit and waterbottles that Naomi’s mom has sent with her. Bob, Alaska and Katya hurtle towards the water, skipping past rocks and shells. Trixie lies down, slightly overwhelmed for a second.

It seems inevitable that they'll all outgrow each other at some point. Growing pains, and maybe they’re the reason for Trixie’s heartache. But even if they do (and Trixie hopes with all her heart that it's an if, not a when), these summers will be immortalised in her heart forever. Pearl, smoking a joint on her bed, gently brushing her hair and listening to her talk with patience and wisdom, reminding her that things will work out, her surprising wittiness. Naomi, with her long long legs and her big big heart, and her arms around Trixie when she's sad, her seemingly never ending supply of makeup wipes and her immediate eagerness to stand up for her friends. Kim, with her catty comments and her artist’s eyes and the way her and Trixie just click so so much, they way they can talk for hours about life and the future and makeup lying on her bedroom floor. Bob, who Trixie's known for such a short amount of time but who she loves so much, who's the most effortlessly funny person she's ever met, who is kind and so fucking clever and bright, who knows how to make even the shittiest situation better. Alaska, who's ambitious and driven and powerful and funny and someone Trixie’s watched and wanted to be her whole life, but who knows how to be soft and calm and help people shine. And Katya, oh god Katya. Katya who's her whole heart, basically, Katya who's her twin soul and her sister (but so much more), Katya who's indelibly printed on Trixie, Katya who's the funniest, weirdest, kindest, best person Trixie's ever known.

She sinks deeper into the sand and almost cries with how perfect they all are, with how much she loves them. She feels Naomi lying next to her, giggling at Kim who's reading her shitty makeup tips from a magazine. She can hear Alaska, Bob and Katya splashing each other and shouting on the shore. She's aware of Violet and Pearl sat further down the beach, laughing and talking quietly. 

Violet, who Trixie doesn't get. Violet, who Trixie realises she likes, frustratingly. Violet, who's bitchy and mean and scared and funny and fierce. Violet, who she kind of wants to kiss sometimes. Violet, who she hates slightly (but doesn't at all, actually, and isn't that the most painful part).

"Don't think too hard, Tracy, you'll get wrinkles"

Violet, whose voice is cutting through Trixie's pleasant thoughts and upending them. Trixie scowls up at her.

"I'm pretty sure with the way she's tanning that's guaranteed anyway," Naomi chimes in, and everyone laughs, including Trixie. She shifts in the sand, taking a moment to analyse the way the sun is beating down on her chest, and rolls onto her stomach.

"Can someone put sunscreen on my back?" She requests, resting her chin onto her hands to watch Alaska, Katya and Bob splashing each other.

"What the-?" There's a sudden pressure on her back, and she hears laughter.

"Relax, Barbie. I'm sunscreening you," comes Violet's drawl, voice light with mirth.

"I don't see why that requires sitting on me," Trixie grumbles. In reality, the feeling of Violet's strong thighs straddling her soft, curvy torso is making her sweat more than the sun. She's suddenly conscious of the way her skin spills slightly over the top of her bikini, of the roll she's now painfully aware of. Violet promptly dissuades this fear by untying Trixie's bikini top.

"Hey!" She exclaims, trying to twist her head and glare at Violet, but the other girl's hands on her back prevent her.

"Tan lines are so 2007, Tracy," Violet smirks somewhere in the vicinity of her left ear. Violet's hands are long and bony her fingers firm as she spreads the sunscreen on Trixie’s lower back. Trixie shivers, and tells herself it's because of the cool touch of the cream and not Violet's fingers. Violet moves her sticky fingers, brushing Trixie's hair off her upper back. Trixie thinks she feels her rest her hand flat on the spot where her bikini once lay. Then, she works her hands on Trixie's shoulders, hitting a knot there. Trixie can't help but let out a groan.

"I didn't know Violet gave out happy ending massages," Kim calls over. "Fuck off whore," Trixie yells back, except it's cut off by second groan as Violet kneads her fingers into another knot. Trixie has no idea why she's so tense, but she genuinely doesn't think the fact that Violet is literally sitting on her, thighs spread, is helping.

Violet spends a few more painfully long seconds massaging the lotion into Trixie’s upper back before standing up. Trixie sighs with relief as the pressure is on her back is released. She’s also wet now, and annoyed about it, feels it as she shifts. 

“I’m gonna go swim,” she says to no one really, retying her bikini top. 

“I’ll come with. I wanna see what the others are doing,” Violet replies from where she’s standing above Trixie. In fact, Trixie’s view is currently dominated by a pair of long pale legs ending in a very small, very red set of bikini bottoms. Fuck her life, honestly. “Also, a thank you would be nice,” Violet grins.

“Thank you,” Trixie rolls her eyes and stands up, missing the way Violet’s eyes linger on her chest, on her pink bikini.

They wander down to the water, where Alaska has Katya on her back, chasing Bob through the waves. Trixie wades in to her waist, hissing at both the shock of the water and the relief of it on her warm skin. 

She loves this contrast, the shimmering heat of the sand and the peace of the water. And it is peaceful, really, no matter how packed the beach is, how many kids are shouting or screaming, how many teenagers are strolling hand in hand along the shore. When Trixie sees the water, the big expanse of formless blue, she feels at home and at peace. She imagines herself sinking down into it all. The blackness of the ocean has always been the only darkness that doesn’t scare her. In fact, sometimes she wishes she could sink down and sit on the sand at the bottom, eyes open, watching the fish swim around her head like strange birds. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath through her nose, letting her sinuses fill with salt.

“Come in!” she calls behind her to Violet, who’s stood on the edge of the water, letting it lap at her ankles. Violet looks…nervous, almost, her early bravado gone. In fact, whenever someone had suggested the beach, Violet’d been quiet. 

“I think…you know what, I actually might just go back to Pearl,” Violet says, turning.

“Wait!” Trixie calls, wading back to the sand, grinning as the sun hits her stomach. The water’s at her thighs when she yells “Come on, scaredy cat, come in!”

Violet glares at her. Trixie knows that of all the things Violet hates, people implying she’s a coward is the worst. She smirks as Violet approaches the water again. Slowly, Violet wades in. She’s shivering, Trixie notices, which is odd given the heat.

“See! That wasn’t so hard, was it,” she smiles at Violet, who’s stood next to her, still shivering.

Violet gives her a tight lipped smile. “I think I might go back in,” she says again. Before she can move, Trixie grabs her wrist.

“What’s up with you?”

Violet’s pulling against her now, eyes wide. “Trixie, let me go. Let me go!” She shouts, wrenching her wrist away from Trixie’s hand. The movement sends her flying back, and Violet falls before Trixie can catch her, landing on her ass. As she does, a wave rolls over them. Trixie jumps it, but it catches Violet right in the face and she goes under. It’s not deep, and Trixie’s more amused than anything as she grabs Violet’s wrists and yanks her up, cackling. As soon as she sees Violet’s face, she stops laughing.

Violet’s deathly white, spluttering, her eyes wide and leaking. Wordlessly, she turns and stalks away from Trixie, moving through the water as quickly as if it was air. 

“Vi!” Trixie shouts, frowning. “What the fuck, Vi, come back! We’ve all been dumped before, it’s no biggie!” 

“Some of us more than others,” Bob adds.

“Was that a read?” Alaska laughs, and Trixie hears a light scuffle ensue.

Violet ignores them, cutting across the beach. She says something to Pearl before grabbing her stuff and storming up to the grass bank at the top of the beach. As her figure disappears from view, Pearl shrugs at Trixie from her spot on the sand.

“Prissy bitch,” Trixie mutters, annoyed. She doesn’t mean it, really, but it feels like every time she gets close to actually liking Violet, she does something like this. Something stuck up and snobbish. She’s still talking about it when she swims out to Bob, Alaska and Katya.

“Honestly, she’s so up herself. Like, if it had been one of us, we would’ve just laughed and moved on. She takes herself so seriously.” The thing is, Trixie doesn’t know why it annoys her so much. She keeps thinking about Violet’s face, about the expression on it when she’s pulled her out of the water. _Fear_ , her brain supplies, and she swallows uncomfortably. 

“She _is_ a gemini,” Alaska drawls. 

“Yeah, she probably just got bored. Or maybe she has water in her nose, that always makes me grumpy,” Katya supplies, but there’s a hint of concern in her voice.

Trixie shrugs, and tries to put Violet out of her mind. But all she can think of is Violet’s face, of the hurt and confusion and yep, that was fear there.

“Fuck it, I’m going to go after her.”

She hears Bob and Alaska’s noises of confusion and protest as she swims back.

“Yo Pearl, did Violet say where she was going?” she asks once she’s back on the sand. She ignores her towel, slipping on her crop tee over her wet skin. It sticks uncomfortably to her as beads of water slide down her legs, pooling at her feet.

Pearl shrugs languidly, readjusting her beige bikini top. Honestly, how does someone look that good in _beige_ , Trixie thinks.

“I think she said she was going to go read in the shade. She looked pretty strung out though.” 

Trixie huffs. She doesn’t know why she’s irritated at Pearl, except that she feels guilty for Violet falling for some reason. She scrambles up the steep sand, making her way onto the grass. Violet’s bag and towel are strewn haphazardly on the ground, but she can’t see her.

“Chachki?” She calls. There’s no response, but Trixie hears a small snuffle from the direction of a large cluster of rocks. She approaches them slowly, and mentally slaps herself for acting like she’s about to save an injured bird. 

“Violet?” 

The girl in question is sat in such an un-Violet like fashion that Trixie isn’t sure it’s her, until the familiar tattoo confirms it. Violet’s sat leaning against the rock, knees pressed up to her chest and and forehead on her arms. She’s crying quietly, the sound muffled into her skin. Trixie feels her heart clench three times specifically. The warmth drains out of her body instantly, as though someone’s sucked all the oxygen out of her blood. She feels a bit of her fracture at this _wrongness_ , at seeing Violet so visibly upset.

She doesn’t know how to translate that heart wrenching awfulness into words, so she sits down next to Violet silently. Her thigh presses against Violet’s ankle as Trixie looks at the contrast in their skintones, the clusters of sand stuck to Violet’s weirdly long toes, a bright contrast to her deep purple nail polish. Trixie notices all that because she can’t quite bring herself to look at Violet, and she doesn’t know why. Violet’s made no motion of noticing Trixie, but Trixie can tell she’s valiantly trying to stifle her sobs. 

“Why are you here.” The question is flat, and comes from the vicinity of Violet’s armpit.

Trixie doesn’t know how to respond to that. To apologise? To make it better? Fleetingly, stupidly, to hold her?

“What’s wrong?” She says instead. Violet raises her head from her arms to glare at her. Violet looks beautiful, annoyingly, pale skin flushed and cheeks red. Her lashes are dark, clumped with tears, and her eyebrows are pulled down. She sniffs violently.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

Trixie rolls her eyes. “Vi, you’re sat crying behind a big rock. Clearly something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t be crying if it wasn’t for you being a cunt and pushing me,” Violet spits.

“I didn’t push you! You fell!” Trixie cries, slightly annoyed.

“Yeah, and I nearly _drowned_.”

Something clicks in Trixie then, something eerily reminiscent of being eight and curled in her bed while angry, drunken shouting came from downstairs, being too scared to turn on her light. Something reminiscent of being twelve at a sleepover, lying terrified in a borrowed sleeping bag, thinking every creak of the floor was a ghost. Something reminiscent of being seventeen and locked in a dark cupboard as a joke at a party, and screaming to be let out, almost crying with embarrassment.

“You’re scared of the water.” It’s not a question, rather a quiet admission of a small, painful fact.

Violet lets out a long sigh.

“Ironic, right. Moving to a beach town when your daughter’s deathly scared of water.”

Trixie doesn’t have a response to that, can’t pretend to be able to empathise with it. The thought that someone could be scared by something so wild and beautiful is strange. But then, she’s scared of Violet, which is kind of the same thing. Maybe she can empathise after all.

“Why did you come in the water at all if you were scared?” she asks, frowning.

 Violet sighs again, scrubbing a hand over her face. “Wanted to impress you,” she mumbles into her hand, so quickly that Trixie doesn’t quite catch it.

“What?”

“I wanted to impress you,” Violet hisses, not looking at Trixie. Trixie maps the sharp line of her cheekbone, the way a tear clings to it. “I know you think I’m a stuck up bitch, and I wanted to show I’m not always and then I thought that maybe if I went in I would, I don’t know, magically stop being scared.”

“Vi,” Trixie says softly, and trails off. There’s not much she can say to that, really, because she does think Violet’s a stuck up bitch. Did think. Doesn’t know.

They sit in silence for a few moments. Trixie feels a hundred unasked questions filling the space above them, as if they’re in an isolated bubble of secrets.

“Can I…can I ask-” she trails off again.

“Why I’m scared of water?” Violet’s voice is thick, and she swallows, rubbing her nose on her wrist in such a childlike way that Trixie wants to grab her and kiss her.

“Yeah. I mean, you don’t have to.”

The thing is, Violet and Trixie aren’t soft with each other. Sure, they can stand each other now, can actually have a semi-decent conversation. But she’s seen Violet be soft with Katya, doing her hair or fixing her eyeliner. She’s seen Violet be soft with Alaska and Bob and Kim and Naomi and Pearl, laughing at their jokes and pushing them gently, offering them advice, hugging them tightly. With Trixie it’s never soft, its always bite. And Trixie’s come to see gentleness in that, has had to. This feels like a different kind of soft, an admission that they trust each other, and Trixie’s brain chokes on the word. Because she can count the number of people she trusts on two hands, and something tells her that Violet’s the same.

“My mom died when I was twelve,” Violet starts. It sounds rehearsed, almost, as if she’s said it a hundred times in her head to try and make it hurt less. It doesn’t quite work.

And that explains a lot, actually, about why Violet’s here, about why Trixie’s mom told her to play nice, about Violet’s caginess.

“She drowned. We used to live in the town over. My mom and dad met at the high school here, actually. I was supposed to go there too.”

They’re both silent at that. Trixie tries to imagine young Violet, meeting her on the first day of freshman year. She wonders if they would’ve been friends, if Violet’s wondering the same thing.

“Vi, you don’t have to, I mean, you don’t have to tell me anymore.”

“No, I want to,” Violet’s voice is steely, and Trixie hears a need in there as well, a need to articulate pain. 

“We were at the beach, and she was swimming. I was further in, with Dad, and then this…this massive wave came through and she got pulled under. I kept waiting for her to come back up, and she just. Didn’t.” The last part is said in a whisper, and Violet’s crying again, so soft that it hurts Trixie to hear it. She’s crying too, she realises. She takes Violet’s hand in her own, stroking it with her thumb. Violet’s palm is sticky in a way she didn’t expect it to be, and she holds onto it for a long time, marvelling at Violet and the way she’s allowing herself to be held, even if it’s just slightly.

“I’m sorry you fell,” Trixie says, finally, and lets it be an apology for everything.

Violet releases her hand and shrugs. “It wasn’t your fault.”

They fall into silence again. Trixe pulls her knees up to her chest and they mirror each other. Eventually, Violet yawns. “Let’s go back.” She stands, and offers a hand to Trixie. Trixie pretends it’s a peace offering and takes it.

“The others will be wondering where we were,” Trixie cautions.

Violet shrugs. “I’ll tell them the truth. You were fingering me behind a bush." 

Trixie slaps her. “Oh my god, I hate you.”

Violet quirks a soft smile at her. “I know.”

They clamber down to the beach together, and Violet informs everyone that Trixie fingered her behind a bush. Everyone laughs, except Katya and Pearl, who give Trixie uncomfortably knowing looks.

When Trixie falls asleep that night, she thinks about the circumference of Violet’s palm, and how she wants to kiss it

 

//

 

It’s mid-July when Pearl hosts her annual Summer Sleepover Extravaganza. They’ve been doing it since they were nine, and gradually the number of invitees has increased. This year it’s at eight, an all time high.

The annual Summer Sleepover Extravaganza generally consists of: baked goods, movies (everyone gets one suggestion, and then they choose three out of a hat. Katya’s still desperately hoping for Contact to be selected, but for some reason it never is), someone crying about how much they love each other, reminiscing, Pearl and Kim doing people’s makeup, stargazing, and in more recent years, a selection of weed and alcohol. It lasts for two nights and is generally wonderful. Pearl’s parents are at a yoga retreat for the weekend and her sister is out of town, meaning that Trixie and Katya arrive at 9am on Saturday ready to construct a tent in Pearl’s living room. They spend two hours tying various bits of coloured fabric to the walls until the whole room is cloaked, like a patchwork circus tent. Pearl instructs them lazily, blunt hanging from the corner of her mouth, bony tan ankles sticking out of her too short overalls. She hands Katya her blunt as she fetches armfuls of Christmas lights, and Katya smokes in the middle of the almost tent, filling it with smoke until Trixie feels floaty and lightheaded and happy. Katya’s wearing burgundy shorts and a bright yellow shirt, and Trixie she tells her she looks like a condiment tray. Katya laughs, and tells Trixie she looks like a friendly Japanese fighting fish. Trixie twirls around, her colourful skirt floating around her. Pearl dumps the lights in the middle of the floor and places her speaker on the couch, now being used as an essential foundation of the tent. Easy folk music fills the room as Trixie and Katya lay embellished cushions and blankets around the floor. Trixie switches the fairy lights on. The different coloured lights make the inside of the tent warm and cosy and slightly ethereal. It looks magical, frankly, and more than big enough to fit the eight of them in.

Slowly the others trickle into the house, and Trixie switches the fairy lights off to be returned to later that night. Bob, Kim and Trixie are in the middle of baking cupcakes while the others smoke outside when Violet shows up, carrying a large holdall.

“What’s that?” Kim asks, abandoning her icing duties to inspect the bag.

Violet colours. “Well, I wasn’t sure what sort of party it was so I brought snacks?” Trixie likes the way the end of her sentence curls into a question mark.

Bob barks a laugh. “Did you buy the entirety of WholeFoods?”

“I’m offended by the thought. This is all TraderJoe’s,” Violet grins back, unloading box after box of brownies, cookies, dip and chips.

“Thank god,” Kim grabs Violet’s arm tightly. “You brought guac. I was worried we would have to eat Pearl’s mom’s quinoa crackers. And she only has organic hummus.”

Naomi wanders into the house and pulls Violet into a quick hug. Alaska and Katya follow suit, and Trixie catches the surprised but pleased expression on Violet’s face.

“Oh my god, you brought snacks. I love you,” Pearl smiles. “I totally forgot to go shopping so thank fuck.”

“And we made cupcakes,” Trixie says brightly, displaying the tray of luminous pink cupcakes behind her.

“Are those edible?” Alaska raises her eyebrows suspiciously as Violet leans over Trixie to grab one. She takes a big bite, a speck of icing clinging to her chin.

“S’good,” she mumbles.

“You have icing on your face,” Trixie tells her bluntly. Violet scrubs a hand across her mouth.

“Did I get it?”

“No, it’s still – wait, just let me,” Trixie interrupts Violet’s ineffectual facial scrubbing to brush her thumb over Violet’s chin. Her skin is warm and their faces are close, weirdly close, actually, when did Trixie get this close?

“I got it.” Trixie withdraws quickly and drops her gaze, grabbing the cupcake tray to hand them out. She can feel the others’ eyes on her and resolutely makes her way to the back yard, a beacon of baked goods that everyone else can’t help but follow. She misses the way Violet hangs back in the kitchen for a moment, cupcake forgotten on the kitchen counter, absentmindedly running a finger along her chin.

Day slowly fades into night, eased by the three bottles of wine consumed between the eight of them. Trixie feels slightly tipsy, senses her skin flushing and is grateful for the cool night air as she lies on her back, pointing out constellations to Bob.

“I’m going to go put pyjamas on,” Katya rises, wobbles slightly and rights herself with a giggle. “I’ll come with.” How Violet manages to be so effortlessly elegant while drinking is beyond Trixie. She frowns at Violet, and mimes poking her face. Her only response is an eye roll as Violet turns away. After a few minutes, she stands herself.

“M’gonna go get a glass of water.” Trixie feels like summer personified right now, glowing and lush and full. She hums one of the songs Pearl had been playing earlier as she fumbles for a glass, watching it slowly fill up. As she drinks deeply, she hears voices from inside the tent. 

“I don’t know, Kat. I think she still hates me.” That’s Violet’s voice, and Trixie wonders who she’s talking about.

“Pshaw, дорогой. We both know that’s not true.” And there’s Katya, a familiar easiness in her voice.

 “Just because we’re not at each other’s throats all the time doesn’t mean we’re, like BFFs.”

 “Good, because that’s my job, and if you tried to take it there would be disastrous consequences,” Katya laughs.  

They’re talking about _her_ , Trixie realises, more curious than anything. Because she doesn’t hate Violet. Has she actually told Violet that? She doesn’t remember, and slips outside again, crossing her legs to sit down next to Pearl. When Violet and Katya come back out, Trixie chokes on her water. Naomi helpfully thumps her on the back a few times. Because here’s the thing, Trixie’s fully prepared for Violet to come out in nothing more than lingerie. She’s been torturing herself with images of Violet in slinky slips, little red camisoles and tiny shorts, because she knows that Violet’s definitely a sexy pyjama person. It retaliation, she’s wearing the tiny night dress Pearl bought her for Christmas that’s all soft pink and boob and thigh. What she’s not prepared for is for Violet to emerge in an oversized hoodie and a pair of old shorts, her hair pulled back in a messy updo. She looks so small and so heartbreakingly soft that Trixie wants to curl up inside her. This was so much easier when Violet was a pretty bitch and nothing else. Now, she keeps proving to Trixie that she’s a real person.

Eventually they migrate indoors to the tent, and Katya opens a box of brownies as they settle on the cushions. The fairy lights are casting brightly colours and shadow on Violet’s face and she glows with them. They’re bringing out the light tan she’s acquired over the last few weeks and she looks a little honey, a little soft and fascinating. The strap of Trixie’s slip slides down her shoulder but she doesn’t fix it, rather runs her fingers idly along her collarbone and thinks about running her fingers along Violet’s instead. This is a dangerous line of thought, and luckily she’s distracted from it by Katya. 

“Violet, you’re an English major. Describe all of us as….desserts.”

Trixie laughs at Katya’s sheer weirdness and Violet smiles.

“Right, well you’re clearly key lime pie. Like it’s weird and old lady-ish but everyone likes it.” Katya nods in appreciation.

The list continues, growing more ridiculous with each analogy.

“Naomi’s cheesecake. Oh wait, no she’s not, because cheesecake has lactose. They _lack toes,_ get it, and Naomi has big toes.” Kim collapses into laughter at her own joke. 

“Actually, Naomi is millionaire’s shortbread because it’s sweet and universally liked,” Violet corrects as Naomi pretends to strangle Kim with a scarf. 

“Alaska is pineapple upsidedown cake.”

“Why?”

Violet shrugs. “I don’t know, you just are.” 

“That’s a fair assessment,” Alaska nods, reaching for a bag of m&m’s.

“You’re really killing use with these high literary descriptions, Chachki,” Trixie can’t help but bite. Violet rolls her eyes and flicks an m&m at her. 

“Kim is black forest gateaux because she looks expensive but actually tastes really weird.” 

“Hey!”

“Pearl is dairy free vegan cheesecake.”

“I’ve never been more offended by a single statement in my life,” Pearl says in a monotone over Violet’s laughter.

“I’m kidding! You’re one hundred percent chocolate cake, because everyone wants to eat you.”

Trixie forces a laugh that’s maybe slightly too loud because Bob shoots her an odd look. 

“Bob’s ice cream cake because she’s a frosty bitch.” 

“Also delicious on a hot day. The key component to any summer. Besides, if anyone’s the frosty bitch, it’s you,” Bob chimes in, poking Violet in the ribs just as Naomi begins tickling Kim in full force. At that, the conversation fully dissolves into a mild wrestling match. Trixie can’t get into it though. She wanted to hear what sort of dessert Violet thought she was, which is stupid because it was just a joke more than anything. She feels painfully overheated suddenly, the tent muggy instead of warm, cloyingly sweet now. She feels like she’s choking, shoots Katya a wan smile and tells her she needs some air before climbing out of the tent. Once she’s outside, she takes a deep breath and walks onto the road to stare at the ocean. It blends into the sky, and she can only differentiate them by the blanket of stars stretching out ahead of her. She hates that she feels like this. She wants to rip off her skin and jump into the ocean, fill herself with salt and sink to the bottom.

“Are you okay?” The voice from behind is startling, and she whips around to see Violet facing her. They’re both barefoot on the cold road. Violet’s feet are long and skinny and vulnerable.

“I’m fine.”

“Then why are you standing outside on the road like a loser?”

Trixie snorts in annoyance and turns back around. Violet’s hand clasps her arm. Her palm is sweaty. Trixie doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t look at Violet either.

“What dessert am I?” She can’t help herself asking. It’s a stupid question that means so much more than this dumb fucking game they’re playing with each other.

“You’re like…you’re like rice pudding,” Violet says seriously, hand gripping Trixie’s arm harder now. Her nails are painted oxblood red and they’re chipped in a way that surprises some distant part of Trixie. She pulls away. 

“Rice pudding? What the fuck, Violet? What does that mean? That I’m pudgy and boring? Thanks a ton,” Trixie snorts, humiliated tears burning at the corners of her eyes. Violet’s own eyes widen and her grip tightens. 

“No! No, Trixie, you’re like…god, I hate you so much. You’re soft and sweet and weirdly nice even though you should be awful. Everyone likes you and I like you and you smell like vanilla and you make me feel warm. You’re like..fuck, okay, you’re like coming home. I’m fucking this up, I know, I’m sorry, I’m not…I’m not good at this. I’m not good at being nice.”

This is the first time Trixie’s seen Violet look defeated. This is the first time Trixie’s heard Violet say sorry. The grip on her arm relinquishes, and Violet scrubs a tired hand over her face.

“You _are_ kind of terrible at being nice,” Trixie agrees. Violet looks up at her, eyes wide and Trixie can practically see the steel and venom entering them. Trixie grins lopsidedly at her. “You’re still my friend though.” Violet stares at her for a moment before squawking and slapping her. “Bitch! Oh my god, I take back everything nice I’ve ever said to you.”

“One thing. You’ve said one nice thing. And it was a dessert simile.”

“That’s not true. I told you I didn’t hate your lipstick on Tuesday!”

“See, that’s not nice. The nice thing to say would’ve been ‘Oh hey, Trixie. Your lipstick looks stunning today. In fact, every day you look like an angel, and your contour has been crafted from the very hands of God himself. Your eyelashes are so pretty’-“ Violet hits her again, then loops her skinny arm through Trixie’s tanned one and they walk back to Pearl’s house laughing.

It’s only later, lying in the tent with Kim’s arm pressing against hers, that Trixie fully considers Violet’s rambling words.

 _You make me feel warm_ , she’d said. _You’re like coming home._

_//_

Trixie wakes up with Kim’s arm wrapped around her waist comfortably, and her mouth on Naomi’s shoulder. She’s drooled on it slightly and tries to wipe it up. Alaska is curled up in the corner, Katya draping a blanket over her softly. Trixie disentangles herself from Kim and Naomi and stands, tapping Katya gently on the shoulder as she heads up to the bathroom. She washes her face quickly and slaps on her casual makeup look (which consists of concealer, eyebrows, contour, mascara, blush and lipgloss. Trixie’s a minimalist).

She doesn’t bother changing, though, ignores how the pink of her slip is slightly darker on her stomach and between her breasts and under her arms. It is summer after all. She pads downstairs, following soft voices outside to Pearl’s back porch. 

Violet, Pearl, Bob and Katya are sat at the table, picking from a fruit platter that Pearl’s produced from somewhere. Trixie grabs a peach and sits next to Bob, dropping her head on her shoulder.

Pearl’s staring at her chest.

“You ‘kay, Pearlie?” She asks with a grin, taking a bite.

Pearl shakes her head. “Sorry, it’s just, your boobs look really good in that nightie.”

“Oh honey. Ho _ney_. These peaches honey? They don’t come from no farmers’ market, honey.”

The table groans with the weight of the girls’ laughter, including Violet’s, which Trixie notes happily. The girl in question stands, stretching, and her jumper rides up a little, exposing a sliver of stomach. Trixie crosses her arms under her chest subtly. 

“I’m gonna go get dressed,” Violet says, leaving the table quickly. Slowly the others trickle out and they move onto the grass with fruit and coffee. 

“Where’s Vi?” Kim asks.

Always the queen of dramatic timing, Violet walks on to the porch at that moment.

“I’m here, back to add a little class to this sordid establishment.”

She’s wearing a white t shirt that’s too big for her, hitting her thighs almost indecently high up. The neck is slashed, and a sleeve shifts off her shoulder. Trixie can see the faint outline of her boobs through the thin fabric, the way Violet’s nipple piercings press against it. Kim nudges Trixie. She must’ve been staring. Her mouth is suddenly dry.

“I don’t think class is what you’re adding in that outfit,” Bob says dryly, and Violet laughs. 

Alaska and Katya are both indiscreetly staring at Violet’s boobs, and Naomi shoves them. They look at each other guiltily, blushing slightly. “Sorry,” Katya says, more to Alaska than Violet. “It’s the nipple piercings,” Alaska shakes her head ruefully. Trixie can relate.

They spend the day in the garden, turning on the sprinklers when it gets warm. Violet’s shirt goes see through with the water and Trixie spends a lot of time fastidiously not looking at her.

“Beach?” Alaska suggests from where Katya’s making daisy chains and putting them on her head.

Trixie yanks on her pink high leg swimsuit in the bathroom as Katya pulls on her matching orange one. Unknowingly they’d both bought each other the exact same swimsuit for Christmas, and when they walk out the others give them a round of applause. Trixie grabs Katya’s hand and they spin around the garden before walking down.

Violet sits down on the sand and fishes out her phone.

“Wait, stay there,” she tells Katya and Trixie, positioning them in front of the sea. “Make it look like Trixie said something funny.”

“Well, that shouldn’t be hard,” Trixie smirks, right as Violet adds, “Katya, you’ll have to use your acting skills.”

The product is two pictures of Trixie glaring right at the camera while Katya doubles over in laughter. There are two nice ones though. In one of them, Katya’s looking at Trixie and laughing while Trixie looks almost at the camera, gaze soft. She smiles when she sees the picture, and then realises that the reason she’s not looking at the camera because she’s looking at Violet. Violet looks at the picture for a long moment.

“I’m going to instagram the other one.”

“Oh my god, Katya, did you hear that? We’ve made it onto Violet Chachki’s instagram. This is the happiest day of my life. I’m dropping out of college, I’ve peaked.”

A notification pings up on her phone. Violet’s instagrammed a picture of Katya and Trixie laughing in each other’s faces, filtered to perfection. The caption reads ‘blow up sex doll meets Russian hooker’ with a collection of pretentious emojis.

@itsbarbiebitch: the only blown up thing here is yr head

@itsbarbiebitch: bc of ur ego get it

@violetchachki: youre an idiot

@violetchachki: youre *clap wmoji* an *clap emoji* idiot *clap emoji*

@yrdadcallsmekatya: mom n dad pls stop fighting

Trixie throws her phone on the towel next to Violet. The others have already headed down to the water, and Katya moves to join them.

“You guys coming?”

Trixie shakes her head and sits down next to Violet as Katya runs down the beach. “Nah. Maybe in a bit.” 

Violet looks down at her phone. “You don’t have to stay with me, you know.” Her voice is quiet.

“C’mon, as if I’d ever be that nice. I’m here purely to irritate you.”

“I’m so glad,” she drawls sarcastically, but Trixie catches her small smile. They lie next to each other in peaceful silence. Trixie doesn’t break it, mostly because she doesn’t quite have the willpower to be mean or the energy to be nice. She dozes for a while, slipping in and out of consciousness. Violet reads a copy of Vogue next to her. She smells like honeysuckle. Trixie doesn’t know if she actually smells like honeysuckle, doesn’t know what honeysuckle really smells like, but the word feels right for violet, not quite as sweet as honey but still nice. Sweat pools between her breasts, on her stomach, between her thighs. It trickles down her legs and her neck pleasantly.

“Can I ask you something?” Violet says eventually.

“It depends what the question is.” Trixie’s heart picks up the pace, and she turns her head to the side to look at Violet.

“Are you in love with Katya?”

Violet’s still not looking at her. Trixie’s heart thuds painfully for a few seconds before returning to normal. She could laugh it off, she knows. But there’s a part of her that thinks maybe sharing this specific vulnerability with Violet could be good for her. Because the only other person she’s shared it with is Katya, and that’s not fair, really.

“No. I was, a little bit, I think. Just for a while. Katya’s like, my twin soul, but I don’t think we would’ve worked out in this universe. It hurt a lot at the time, and sometimes it still does. It’s not her fault. It’s just one of those things." 

Violet nods once in understanding, and silence descends over them, a little kinder this time.

Katya walks towards them, dripping with water. “Oh no,” Trixie whispers, trying desperately to move when Katya jumps on her, covering her in water.

Violet collapses in laughter as Trixie tries to push Katya over. She eventually succeeds and Katya collapses on the sand. 

“I guess I have to go swim now,” Trixie glares. Katya shrugs and shoos her away. “I want to talk to Vi anyway.”

Violet shoots Trixie a panicked glance, and she cackles once, running down to the water. She dives in, not caring about her makeup, and swims out to the others. She feels timeless, suddenly, and laughs with it.

Everything tastes like salt, and she wonders if Violet does, too.

 

//

 

That night they watch Mean Girls, and Trixie and Naomi know every line. Trixie knows she does a mean Amy Poehler impression. Kim brings her phone projector and Bob makes a screen for it out of a big white sheet. When the Jingle Bell Rock scene comes up, Trixie and Naomi pull Pearl and Katya up to do the routine with them. Violet laughs so hard that she falls off her chair.

When the film finishes, Pearl sets up the fire pit and they toast marshmallows.

“Hey Trixie, go get your guitar,” Pearl instructs. Trixie rolls her eyes and goes inside to grab it. When she comes out, Katya’s moved to sit on Alaska’s lap and Violet’s taken her spot next to Trixie. The orange light of the fire illuminates her pleasantly. 

“No Dolly Parton,” Bob warns, and Trixie pouts at her.

“Actually, we have a general ban on country music,” Naomi reminds them.

Trixie lets out a long suffering sigh. “Honestly, you expect me to provide the entertainment and then you put a ban on the greatest artist of modern music,” she mutters, beginning to strum. 

It’s a dumb pop song Naomi keeps playing, and she’s had it stuck in her head for a few days. Her fingers roam over the strings with familiar comfort as she begins to sing.

 _In my room there's a king size space_  
Bigger than it used to be  
If you want you can rent that place  
Call me an amenity  
Even if it's in my dreams

_You're taking up a fraction of my mind_

_Every time I watch you serpentine_

She looks at her fingers and the fire and not at Violet as Alaska harmonises softly on the chorus.

 

_With my feelings on fire_

_Guess I’m a bad liar_

She messes up the words in the second verse and laughs as she keeps playing, sings the chorus again and finishes, her voice and Alaska’s blending sweetly together.

She stops and looks up. Katya’s gazing softly at her and Alaska, and she forces herself not to look away while the others clap and cheer.

“Pretty good, Barbie,” Violet smirks at her.

“Two compliments in two days?” Trixie gasps in faux shock. “Someone call an ambulance, I think there’s something wrong with Violet.”

“Play something else!” Kim shouts.

“Fine, fine. Anyway, here’s Wonderwall,” she grins as the others drown out her playing with boos.

She plays a Fleet Foxes song instead, and this time Bob joins in on the harmony as well as Alaska.

“Do you know any Elvis songs?” Violet asks quietly, and Trixie looks at her in surprise. Violet shrugs. “My mom’s favourite." 

Trixie plays _I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You_ , and looks at the ground the whole time. She looks up as she sings the last note to see Violet smiling softly and staring into the flames. She thinks Violet wipes a tear for her cheek, and looks away again. Katya has her head pressed into Alaska’s neck as Alaska gazes at her in adoration. Pearl, Naomi, Kim and Bob are leaning together, swaying gently. Trixie glows inside.

Then Alaska leads them in a rousing rendition of Mr Brightside and Trixie laughs so hard that she stops playing the guitar, clutching her stomach instead as Katya resolutely belts along, despite not knowing the words. 

She looks at her friends and thinks _this is what love looks like._

When they eventually head back to the tent, Trixie ends up next to Violet. In the middle of the night she wakes up with Violet’s nose pressed to her hair, and smiles as she falls back asleep.

 

//

 

As timeless as summer feels, Trixie can sense it speeding away from her. She hasn’t properly spoken to any of her friends in a week, instead choosing to lock herself in her room and smash out her summer assignments. Her studying binge lasts another week. Katya comes over and they study in her bedroom with the window open, as if they’re hoping to absorb the good feelings of summer through osmosis. Alaska and Bob are doing a duologue together, and apparently it’s so dramatic that Kim’s banned them from rehearsing in the house. Violet instagrams an aesthetically pleasing picture of a pile of books, and Trixie likes it. Back to school ads start playing on the T.V. even though they technically have over a month before starting. After writing two thousand words on the cultural impact of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, she collapses onto her bed, bouncing Katya, who’s currently writing an essay on medieval mythology. 

“Bored?” 

“Done, I think. I just have to proof read stuff, but I’m done!”

Katya rolls onto her back. “Same, pretty much. Oh man, can we please go outside? I haven’t been outside in like, four days.”

They walk to the diner, Trixie grateful to stretch her body out. Katya pushes the door open with force, still rambling about the impacts of medieval French theology on the role of women in the twelfth century. The air con is a slap in the face, and Trixie grins at Shea, the owner of the store.

“If it isn’t my favourite troublemakers,” Shea grins at them. She’d been a few years above them in school and she’s now in her final year of law at Harvard. Her mom has owned the store for as long as Trixie can remember, and sometimes Shea’s cool girlfriend, Sasha, helps out as well. Katya and Sasha ramble in Russian while Trixie updates Shea on the town gossip.

“I’ll get my usual,” she grins at Shea. “Vanilla ice cream with pink food dye?” Shea asks with a teasing smile. “Can I get, hmmm, can you combine a lime milkshake with a caramel one?” Katya asks.

“That disgusts me, but sure.” Shea’s very much used to Katya’s strange combinations at this point. There had been a very stressful month during finals in senior year when Katya went to the diner after school every day and spent all of her money on different flavour combinations. Shea ended up giving her a staff discount because, she said, Katya was doing more service to the diner than the entire town combined.

“Tracy, Kat,” A familiar drawl cuts across the cool air of the diner. Trixie turns to see a familiar dark head bent over a table, hunched down so far that she’d missed her. Violet is drinking a chocolate milkshake the size of her head, complete with whipped cream and a cherry on top. She looks like she hasn’t showered in a few days, and there’s a bit of whipped cream on the edge of her nose. Her eyes are wide and slightly manic as Trixie takes in the giant pile of books on the table. Shea hands her the milkshake with a knowing smile. “She’s been in here every day this week. Yesterday, she threw a copy of the Great Gatsby on the ground and started stamping on it,” she whispers.

Trixie takes the milkshake and sits down across from Violet, who she now can’t see. She peers around the pile of books.

“So, how’s it going?” She sings cheerily, taking a slurp of her milkshake. Violet’s eyes are wide and glassy.

“If I have to read another straight white man try and write about women I’m going to scream.”

“I take it that the national psyche isn’t treating you well.”

“The American Dream,” Violet drops her forehead to the sticky tabletop dramatically, “is bullshit.”

Katya sits down, her milkshake a fascinating shade of brown. “I could’ve told you that for free.”

Violet groans again and Katya pats her head.

“Come for a walk with us,” Katya says forcefully. Violet looks up at them, and then back at her pile of books.

“I’ll make sure no one steals your stuff,” Shea calls over, and Violet shoots her a grateful smile.

“I’m not sure anyone would want to steal them,” Trixie stands, decanting her milkshake into a to-go cup 

Violet follows Katya and Trixie out of the diner, waving goodbye to Shea as they collide with the wall of heat. They ramble the streets aimlessly, the warm sun feeling almost as good now as it did on the first day of summer.

“What’re you doing for your birthday this year, цветок?” Katya asks.

The heat from the concrete is stifling, the bright white of the houses almost blinding. Trixie feels like she’s bleaching out, her hair getting whiter.

“I don’t know. It’s not for ages, but I think I’ll have something next week because Pearl’s going away with her parents and then Naomi has to go back to college for a few days before term starts." 

Her birthday is the last big event of summer, and it always seems to coincide with last ditch attempts at family holidays.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be nineteen,” Trixie sighs, running a hand through her hair.

It feels like everything’s coming to an end, all at once, summer, but so much more than that. The wave of nostalgia hits her all at once, and she stumbles slightly.

Violet nudges her with an elbow. “You should be excited. Everyone knows your twenties are the fun years.”

“Yeah!” Katya joins in. “I mean, look at me, I’m a bright young woman in my prime.”

“You’re just a walking skeleton trapped in a flesh cage,” Trixie elbows her.

“A bright young woman skeleton, though.”

“You should have a beach bonfire,” Violet says abruptly.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Trixie hums around her straw. They chatter aimlessly about Alaska and Bob’s dramatic monologue. Apparently they’d used an entire bottle of ketchup trying to make Alaska squirt blood. Pearl had started to play the harmonica. Naomi was incubating plants and playing them country music to see if it increased their growth rate, hating every second. Kim had made four dresses, and asked Violet to model one.

“Bitch,” Trixie mutters. “She’s never asked me.”

Violet shoots her a sly smile. “I dunno, maybe you’re just not built for it.”

Katya has to sit on the pavement because she’s laughing so hard, while Trixie hits Violet with an assault of pokes.

Trixie arranges the bonfire for the next week, and thinks a lot about what she’s going to do. Violet goes back to college the same time as Trixie and Katya, three weeks from now. Trixie thinks a lot about kissing Violet. It feels paramount, somehow, that she give Violet a little bit of her like that. She’s still not convinced that Violet feels the same way (Trixie isn’t necessarily sure _what_ she feels, just that there’s a lot of it). But she looks at Katya and Alaska, and goes to the diner and sees Sasha with their chin hooked over Shea’s shoulder. She listens to Bob talk about the girl she’s been on a few dates with in New York, and she wants. Before, she’s always imagined a mysterious, nameless, formless girl. Sometimes it’s taken the shape of Katya, once Pearl. Now it appears as Violet.

The days in between are spent skating or walking or lying on assorted beds and talking about the coming semester and films and their college friends.

Trixie wakes up on her not-birthday to a camera in her face and seven people yelling “HAPPY NOT BIRTHDAY!”

“How did you get into my house?” Trixie asks, scrubbing her eyes.

“Katya,” Naomi shrugs.

“I told your mom,” Katya explains.

“We have presents!” Kim throws a brightly coloured box at her.

“It’s not my birthday for another two weeks, you dorks.”

“I’ll be back at college then,” Naomi pouts. “Plus, you can’t have a party without presents.”

The seven of them squeeze onto her bed, Katya bouncing excitedly. Trixie likes the sight of Violet in her room, even if she does wrinkle her nose at Trixie’s floral bedspread. 

“Open mine first,” Alaska demands, twirling one of Katya’s curls around her finger. Trixie tears open the green parcel, and pulls out a black t-shirt with a picture of Katya and Alaska on it. Underneath it, ‘I was a third wheel and all I got is this lousy t-shirt’ is printed in white block letters. She stares at it for a few seconds before turning to Alaska. “You utter whore.” Alaska’s face grows nervous. “I love it!” Trixie screeches, yanking it on over the bralette she’s been sleeping in.

Naomi gives her a thin silver choker, while Bob hands over a pair of heart shaped sunglasses. She puts them both on immediately, and Violet takes a photo of her on her film camera. Trixie remembers Violet saying she only used it on special occasions, and smiles to herself a little.

Pearl hands over her gift a little shyly. “It’s okay if you don’t like it,” she cautions, handing over a cumbersome rectangle. Trixie rips off the packaging, and tears up a little at what she sees. It’s a painting of her playing her guitar at the fire pit. In the picture, she’s looking down at the guitar. She looks tender and soft and rosy. Next to her, Violet has her knees pulled up on her chair, while Pearl’s included Katya and Alaska gazing at eachother in background as well.

“Pearl,” she murmurs, and pulls her into a tight hug. “I love it." 

Katya huffs. “That’s going to make my present look crap, thanks Pearl.” And she hands over a similarly shaped package.

“Please tell me you haven’t painted me something. We still have the evidence of your anime phase.” Alaska cackles as Katya mutters something intelligible.

Trixie opens the shoddily wrapped present and grins. It’s a collage of the summer. There’s the picture of her and Katya at the beach, two of them, in fact – the one where she’s glaring at the camera and the other where she’s smiling at Violet. There’s another picture of her and Kim frowning as they braid Pearl’s hair, of Trixie and Bob asleep on the hammocks on Kim’s porch, of Alaska and Trixie sharing a milkshake at the diner. There’s a picture of her and Violet on the beach that Katya must’ve taken when she wasn’t looking, heads leaning in as they talk. There are other pictures too, ones not of her. There’s Naomi asleep with her head on Kim’s shoulder, of Bob rollerskating down the street next to Violet on her board, of Alaska in a green swimsuit with her arm looped around Pearl’s neck, Katya with Violet in a headlock. There’s a selfie of Katya grinning in the middle of bed, Trixie pulling a face at her laptop in the corner, right in the middle of the collage.

The others crowd around to see it, oohing and aahing. Katya looks at her, and she mouths a thank you.

“Do mine,” Kim instructs. Trixie unwraps the package on her lap. A strapless pink dress with a tie front falls out. It’s baby pink gingham and Trixie loves it.

“Did you make this?”

Kim nods, pleased. “Violet helped with the design.”

“I love it, I’m going to put it on" 

“How dare you take off my t-shirt,” Alaska whines. 

Trixie moves to get out of bed when she’s stopped by Violet. “You haven’t opened mine, yet.”

Violet hands her a small, soft package, meticulously wrapped in shiny red paper. She opens it cautiously, gasping in delight as she pulls out a vintage Dixie Chicks tour t-shirt, slightly older than her current one. Then she frowns at Violet.

“I thought you hated my Dixie Chicks shirt?”

“What? No, I said ‘nice shirt’, remember. And then you were super rude.”

Trixie laughs at the confusion on Violet’s face.

“I thought you were being sarcastic!”

Violet gives her an unimpressed look. “You’re an idiot.”

Trixie shrugs. “Fair. Alright, get out of my room while I get changed.” They head down the stairs, and Trixie smiles happily to herself. Kim’s dress is perfect on her, she has no idea how she got her measurements so well. She admires the way the top of it presses against her cleavage, the way it accentuates her ass and thighs. She spins once, giddily, and watches it fan out around her. Then, she does her makeup, taking extra care with it today. She pulls half of her hair up into a bun, and smoothes down the front of her dress again.

Downstairs, her mom is chatting to Naomi while the other’ sit around the living room. When she sees her, Bob lets out a little whoop and Alaska wolf whistles. Trixie twirls, laughing. “It’s perfect,” she tells Kim, hugging her tightly.

“Now, number one on the Trixie’s Not Birthday Extravaganza list is breakfast at the diner. Let me accompany you, my lady.” Katya dramatically links her arm through Trixie’s and leads her out of the house. At the diner, Shea hugs her over the counter and gives her a pile of waffles on the house. Trixie feels the things she’s been feeling all summer all at once, with her friends crammed on to the red vinyl seats that are really only made for four. Trixie grins down at her waffles, and looks up to catch Violet’s eyes. Violet gives her a small smile before turning back to her pancakes.

It takes two hours to set up the bonfire. Trixie, Pearl and Naomi cycle back and forth from Naomi’s house with piles of driftwood, adding to the every growing pile, while Katya and Alaska arrange them in supposed correct bonfire position. Violet sits on a deck chair and critiques their placement, while Kim and Bob drive to the big supermarket the next town over.

Once they’re finally done, the eight of them look at the behemoth of wood appraisingly. “It’s 4pm. I feel like we can’t light it yet.” Kim voices the concern of the group.

Naomi suggests charades, and Trixie laughs so hard that she snorts sand as Katya frantically tries to capture the essence of ‘Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets’ with just movements. It mostly involves Katya wriggling on the sand and hissing, in between pretending to be Petrified. Then, Violet picks out ‘Sex and the City’, and Trixie cries at the glare on Violet’s face as she thrusts aggressively at Pearl.

Slowly it grows cool around them. Dusk blankets the beach as the sky shifts from blue to orange to pink to lilac. Bob lights the bonfire, and after a few attempts, it roars to life. Music streams gently out of Pearl’s speaker as they toast marshmallows and Naomi tells embarrassing stories about Trixie’s childhood. She can’t be mad, though, not when the story of her accidentally flashing their middle school gym teacher makes Violet let out an aggressive snort. 

A drop of water hits Trixie square on the forehead, and she looks up in confusion. Another one hits her.

“Hey, did you guys feel that?” Alaska frowns up at the sky. As if by fate, the clouds above them open into a downpour. Trixie’s soaked, the fabric of her dress clinging to her chest.

“Fripples,” Katya laughs, poking her as they hurriedly pack away the chairs. The bonfire is fully out, and Trixie can’t help the smile on her face as the others shriek, ineffectively trying to hide under towels. Trixie walks slowly, gathering empty marshmallow packets. Violet joins her, and when Trixie gives her a questioning look, shrugs and says “I kind of like rain in the summer.”

When they get back to Trixie’s house they’re a collective mess of running mascara, damp hair and sopping clothes. Trixie hands out shirts and sweatpants, purposefully giving Violet the original Dixie Chicks t-shirt. Violet takes it, but refuses to put on pants in retaliation. She’s wearing a very small, very lacy, thong. Trixie is not a fan, and in retaliation accompanies her heart printed underwear with just a sweatshirt.

“So, that was kind of a bust,” Naomi laughs.

Pearl grins. “It’s okay, Katya and I have a back up plan.” She produces an empty wine bottle from her backpack. “Spin the bottle!” Trixie freezes as she looks at Katya, who’s resolutely avoiding her gaze.

“Birthday girl goes first,” Kim hands her the bottle. Trixie spins it with her eyes closed. Does she want to land on Violet? Because if she does, then it’s just a joke, really. It’s part of a stupid game, and she doesn’t think she wants that.

The bottle lands on Alaska, and Trixie lets out a small sigh of relief, ignoring Katya and Pearl’s exchange of disappointed looks. Trixie shrugs and crawls towards Alaska, pulling her into a quick kiss. She tastes a bit like Katya, and a lot like mint lipbalm.

Kim lands on Naomi and Bob lands on Katya. It’s pretty funny watching her friends wrinkle their noses and kiss each other, and Trixie relaxes slightly. It’s Pearl’s spin next.

“If I don’t land on Trixie I’m going to be really pissed off.” She spins it forcefully, and she’s about two centimetres away from getting what she wants.

“Violet,” Bob says carefully. Violet shrugs from where she’s sat next to Trixie, and licks her lips purposefully. Pearl looks like a deer caught in the headlight as Violet crawls – no, _stalks_ , Trixie’s brain supplies – towards her. It’s every cliché saying about not being able to look away. It’s a car crash, it’s a horror film, it’s a strange nightmare as Trixie watches Violet rest her hand on Pearl’s cheek and then lean in, kissing her forcefully. Violet’s tongue brushes Pearl’s bottom lip and Trixie digs her nails into her palm. She thinks she draws blood, but she’s not sure. Pearl and Violet’s mouths move together, and they’re both so beautiful that Trixie wants to run away. The kiss feels like it last an eternity, and when Violet finally pulls away, Pearl is flushed, her lips swollen. She looks at Katya with a look of panic. Trixie looks at her hands.

“Well, I think you won,” Alaska drawls, breaking the awkward silence. Violet doesn’t say anything. Neither does Trixie.

“Snap?” Naomi says brightly, and the others move around the deck of cards. 

“I’m just gonna go get some snack,” Trixie says, forcing her voice to sound even. “Kat, do you wanna come help me?”

Katya nods and they walk silently out of the room, where Naomi’s explaining the rules of Irish snap to the other. Trixie can’t help the hot tears spilling out of her eyes. A small sob escapes her chest, and Katya grabs her hand, pulling her into the bathroom. Trixie sits on the toilet and Katya half closes the door. “Shhh, shhh цветок, I’m so sorry, this wasn’t supposed to happen,” Katya kneels on the floor and holds her hands while Trixie cries.

“It’s so stupid, I’m being stupid.”

“You’re not being stupid, you’re hurt. It was supposed to be a way of getting her to kiss you.”

“I hate that she’s making me feel like this,” Trixie sniffs. She laughs bitterly, void of all humour. “God, I can’t believe I thought she liked me. Of course she’s kiss Pearl like that. Fuck, she’s that bitch I always thought she was. She’s such a fucking cunt, I can’t believe she did that.” Trixie knows she’s being unfair but it _hurts_. She hears a creak outside the door but ignores it, hopes it’s not her mom coming to check up on her. “God, I hate her.”

“No you don’t,” Katya’s eyes are soft and sad. “That’s why it hurts.”

They sit in silence for another minute, Trixie rubbing her eyes furiously.

“Worst birthday party ever,” she mutters, and Katya chuckles. “I’ll go get some tissues from your room.”

Trixie’s sitting on the toilet still when Katya throws open the door, eyes wide. “Violet’s gone." 

“What?” Trixie stands up. “Where?”

 “Pearl said she came down to see if we needed a hand.” Katya’s biting her lip, worrying it between her teeth.

 Trixie thinks about the creak outside the door. “Fuck, Katya, what if she heard? What if she heard that I thought she liked me and now she’s gone?”

The ‘or worse, what if she heard me say I hate her’ goes unspoken.

“I’m going after her,” Trixie pushes past Katya, who makes no move to stop her, and runs down the stairs, slipping quietly past her mom. It’s stopped raining but the air still feels cold and heavy. The pavement is damp against her bare feet, and she wraps her arms around herself.

“Violet?” She calls into the dark. She shouts again louder, more frantic this time, and starts walking down the street. The street lamps make everything look a milky orange, and the stars glare down at her. There’s figure up ahead, glowing white in the darkness and she runs towards it.

“Violet,” she grabs the other girl’s arm. She stood in the middle of the road, looking at the sea instead of Trixie. 

“I thought we were friends.” There’s no emotion in Violet’s voice. Its rough and gravelly and tears Trixie open.

“We _are_ friends.” 

“You told Katya I was a bitch! That I was a cunt! You said you fucking hated me, Trixie, that’s not very friendly. I thought…I thought you liked me.” Violet sounds small and hard and it makes Trixie burn.

“I was angry!”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Fuck you,” Trixie spits, and pulls Violet’s arm so she’s facing her. She’s suddenly aware of the height difference between them, the way Violet’s so much taller even though she’s bare foot and her posture’s shitty. “I was angry, okay, I was angry that you fucking made out with Pearl.”

“It was a game. Fucking hell. And why would you be mad? You kissed Alaska? You don’t have any right to-” 

“I’m angry because I wanted it to be me!” She drops Violet’s arm and turns away from her, wrapping her arms around herself again. “I wanted you to kiss me,” she says again, quietly, more to her feet that to Violet. “And I thought that maybe you felt the same, but then I saw the way you were – the way you kissed Pearl, and I knew that I was wrong." 

“You’re an idiot,” Violet says and it stings, stings more than the tarmac against her blistered feet. But then Violet’s grabbing her arms and spinning her back towards her, pulling her in. Violet grabs her hand and laces their fingers together and she’s crying while Trixie blinks tears out of her lashes. Violet places a soft hand on Trixie’s cheek. She’s trembling, but so is Trixie.

Violet tastes like, in this order: dirt, chapstick, salt and oranges. She tastes like the skatepark, like bonfire smoke, like the waxy feel of expensive lipstick. Her lips against Trixie’s are soft and warm and Trixie can’t believe she ever though Violet was a vampire. Violet’s eyes are closed but Trixie’s are wide and open and she doesn’t kiss back. Violet pulls away, a myriad of expressions fluttering across her face. Trixie surges forward and kisses her, this time with purpose. She feels tears on her cheeks, mixing with Violet’s as she runs her tongue along Violet’s bottom lip. Violet’s hands her on her waist, now, sliding down gently to grab her ass. Trixie breaks away, and smiles up at Violet, rubbing her thumbs along Violet’s cheekbones.

 “I’m sorry I ruined your birthday.” Violet’s eyes are soft and her hands are still on Trixie’s ass and her mascara is running and Trixie thinks she’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“S’ not my real birthday,” she smiles. The shivers. The absurdity of the situation strikes her all at once. Here they are, in the middle of the road in underwear and t-shirts. She laugh, a real laugh, and Violet joins in, grabbing her hand again. 

“The others will be wondering where we are,” Violet hums the words. Her hand is sweaty, and Trixie brings it up to her mouth to kiss it.

“I’m sure Katya’s filled them in.”

“I can’t believe she thought a game of spin the bottle was the best option. I mean, there was only a one in seven chance of us landing on each other.” 

“I think she thought it would be romantic.” Trixie swings their intertwined hands. There’s stuff to discuss, obviously, and stuff to deal with and the fact that Violet does annoy her some of the time, but she also delights her most of the time. It doesn’t feel important right now, not when her lips are tingling.

When they get to Trixie’s house, her bedroom window is thrown up, and six familiar figures are leaning out of it.

“They’re holding hands!” Pearl yells, and a set of whoops and cheers emerges. Trixie leans up to rest her head against Violet’s neck.

“Bob, you owe me ten bucks,” Trixie hears Kim shout.

“They’re idiots,” Violet snorts.

 “It seems to be a common theme,” Trixie grins up at her. Violet sniffs derisively.

“Not true. I’m not an idiot.” Trixie elbows her in the side, and Violet presses a kiss to her forehead. “Well, maybe I am an idiot. But just for you.”

Above them, a bolt of lightning lights up the sky. They don’t see it.

It doesn’t really matter, after all.

 


End file.
